


Puppy Love

by Ginipig



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alistair and his mabari are besties, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety and depression due to PTSD, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Brief depressive episode, Canon-Typical Violence, Cullen Rutherford is more comfortable around animals than people, Death of Lover, Dragon Age: Origins Crew, Extended grief, Fluff and Angst, Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), Grief/Mourning, HOF Ultimate Sacrifice, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Suicide Ideation, M/M, Mabari imprinting, Modern Thedas, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Second Chance at Love, Support of friends and therapist, Vet!Cullen, Veterinary Clinic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginipig/pseuds/Ginipig
Summary: Alistair is anxious when he takes his beloved mabari, Barkspawn, to the clinic's new vet to check out a mysterious leg injury. His anxiety only worsens when Dr. Cullen Rutherford, in spite of his odd yet endearing bedside manner, turns out to be incredibly attractive. But Alistair has bigger things (like Barkspawn's leg) to worry about, and he's not ready for a relationship right now anyway. So why can't he stop thinking about Dr. Rutherford, and why won't Barkspawn just leave him alone about it?
Relationships: Alistair & Barkspawn (mabari), Alistair/Cullen Rutherford, Alistair/Male Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Brief Alistair & Leliana (Dragon Age), Brief Alistair & Morrigan (Dragon Age), Brief Alistair & Zevran Arainai
Comments: 74
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jellysharkbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellysharkbat/gifts).



> Inspired by the following from jellysharkbat's Tumblr:
> 
> _Let’s say it's modern!Thedas._   
>  _Let’s say Cullen didn’t go the military route._   
>  _I’m not saying he’d become a veterinarian 100% without a doubt but Cullen Stanton Rutherford would totally become a vet and coo over his patients constantly._
> 
> Jelly, I just can't stop writing puppy things for you!

“Oh, no,” the vet tech said as Alistair followed her to the back room. “No need to ask why you’re here, sweetie.”

She was speaking, of course, to his beloved mabari, who was limping. Her front right paw had swollen to at least half again its normal size, and she actually whined and, even worse, leaned into him when the vet tech reached down to lift her up onto the table.

“It’s okay,” Alistair murmured to her. “These nice people are going to help you. I promise.” To the tech, he said, “I got her.”

He squatted and, as he had done to get her in and out of the car, wrapped one arm around her chest and the other just behind her back legs and heaved her up onto the table. Maker’s breath, before today he hadn’t lifted her since she was a puppy, and now she was two-hundred-plus pounds of pure muscle. Once he set her on the table, she immediately lay down and looked at him with sad eyes.

His heart broke to see her like this, as it always did whenever she was injured. The last time had been years ago, back when they were still fighting darkspawn. Only this time there was no blood and really no indication of what was wrong other than the swelling and her limp. And even back then, she’d always been tough and stoic, so Alistair knew she was in a lot of pain right now. She was getting older, which put her at risk for all kinds of problems, and his mind couldn’t help but go to the worst possible scenarios — cyst. Tumor. _Cancer_.

“Oh, sweetie,” the tech said, grabbing a treat from a jar and holding it out. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get you all fixed up in no time.”

In yet another indication of just how much pain she was in, she shied away from the vet tech’s offer and nuzzled against Alistair’s hand. Alistair stroked behind her ears and murmured comforting words as the tech put the treat on the table.

“Just in case you want it later,” she said with a smile that Alistair couldn’t return. “So we can make sure we’ve got the right file, you’re Alistair Theirin, yes?”

Alistair nodded, his gaze never leaving his sweet girl.

The tech took her vitals in silence, and she protested every touch with a whine.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Theirin,” the tech said softly as she finished writing notes on a clipboard. “Dr. Rutherford is the best. He’ll be in to see you in a few minutes.”

“Did you hear that?” he asked her when the tech had left. He stroked and scratched between her ears, her favorite spot. “Only the best for you, girl.”

Alistair had his doubts, though. This Dr. Rutherford was not their usual vet. They’d been seeing Dr. Dennet for years, and he knew her up one side and down the other, literally. But when Alistair had realized how serious this was, he’d taken the first available appointment, and it wasn’t with Dr. Dennet. Dr. Rutherford was relatively new to the practice — if Alistair remembered correctly from the email he’d barely skimmed about a new vet — but he couldn’t be bad if Dr. Dennet had brought him on, right?

“You’re going to be fine,” Alistair whispered, though he was pretty sure he was comforting himself more than her.

The door opened and a voice asked, “Now, who do we have here?”

When Alistair looked up, he got his first look at Dr. Rutherford. And … wow.

He was about Alistair’s age and almost as tall, which was saying something. Curly blond hair. A deep, mellifluous voice. And Maker, he was built. Somewhat stocky, with biceps that stretched his scrubs just enough to be distracting.

Damn. Dr. Rutherford was _hot_.

“Hello,” Dr. Rutherford said without looking up, flipping through paperwork on a clipboard. “Barkspawn.”

He snorted a bit as he said the name, but not in the way so many people (with no appreciation for puns) did, like it was stupid. Dr. Rutherford actually seemed to find it funny, which was a definite point in his favor.

“Well,” Dr. Rutherford said, setting the clipboard aside on the counter and actually crouching down to look Barkspawn in the eye. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Spawn, though I do wish it was under different circumstances.”

Now it was Alistair’s turn to snort, and he actually cracked a little smile for the first time since this whole thing started.

“I’m Dr. Rutherford, but you can call me Cullen, all right?” Still speaking to Barkspawn, he noticed the untouched treat. “Oh, dear. You must be feeling really bad if you don’t want this.”

Slowly, he reached his hand out to pet her, and Barkspawn allowed it with a whine.

“I know.” Dr. Rutherford spoke gently to her. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting. But I’m going to do whatever I can to help, okay?”

And to Alistair’s utter surprise, she nuzzled into his hand.

Holy shit. Was this guy some sort of mabari whisperer or something? _Major_ points in his favor.

Dr. Rutherford began to stroke her right between the ears, and Barkspawn rested her head on the table and closed her eyes, completely relaxed.

“Now, I can tell from your battle scars and your fearsome name that you’re a hero of the Blight,” Dr. Rutherford said, still petting her gently. “But your file says you’re retired. Can I take that to mean that we don’t need to worry about any Tainted blood?”

He hadn’t made eye contact with Alistair since he entered, but since Barkspawn couldn’t technically speak (though Alistair had always understood her as if she could), Alistair assumed the question was intended for him.

“No, we haven’t been within a hundred yards of a darkspawn in years.” His heart clenched at the memory of the last darkspawn they fought together, but he pushed it away to focus on Barkspawn. As her head was currently occupied, he patted her belly. She lifted her tail and brought it down on the table with a gentle whap of agreement.

“And have you been away from Dad for any significant amount of time in the past couple of weeks?”

Alistair clenched his hand in her fur, his sudden protectiveness surprising him. Perhaps it was triggered by Dr. Rutherford’s use of _Dad_. “No. She’s always with me.”

“Of course you are,” Dr. Rutherford said. “Because you’re a mabari and a very good girl, and he’s yours.”

In spite of the increasingly ridiculous conceit of the conversation, Alistair found himself blinking back tears. Something about Dr. Rutherford comforted him. His soothing voice, perhaps, or the utter calm he exuded. Or maybe it was the way he seemed to understand — without explanation or judgment — the bond they shared in a way no one outside the Wardens ever had. Even Dr. Dennet considered “imprinting” a fancy term for the relationship all people shared with their animals.

But Dr. Rutherford got it.

And maybe that was why he removed his hand from Barkspawn’s head before Alistair even started moving, giving him space to press his forehead to hers like he always did when one of them needed comforting.

“Such a good girl,” Alistair whispered, and she nuzzled back in response.

When Dr. Rutherford returned, he rolled forward on one of those wheely stools that all doctors seemed to have, gloves on his hands and glasses perched on his nose — which, Alistair tried not to note, increased his hotness by several degrees.

“So you’ve got a slight fever,” he said. “But nothing too high. All my years of specialized veterinary training are telling me that this swollen leg you’ve been favoring is the likely culprit. Let’s see if they were worth all that student debt, hmm?”

Alistair let out a soft huff of laughter and smirked. Both were short-lived, however, when Barkspawn let out a long, loud whine as Dr. Rutherford took her paw in his hand.

“I know it hurts,” Dr. Rutherford said. “But we’re going to see what we can do to make it better.”

He pressed and poked and maneuvered it, and Barkspawn resisted him every step of the way. She tried to jerk her leg away, but he held tight and Alistair shushed her, assuring her it would all be okay even as Dr. Rutherford’s intense focus had him doubting the truth of his words.

“Have you stepped on anything lately?” he asked, pulling a few things Alistair couldn’t identify from a drawer. Something flat and clear and something that looked like a sewing needle. “Thorn in the paw, that sort of thing?”

“No. I’d have noticed that much earlier.”

“How about licking or chewing? The fur is thin, and the skin looks a bit raw. Have you been gnawing at some irritation?”

Alistair’s stomach dropped at that. “I — I don’t think so? She licks herself a lot, almost like a cat sometimes, so if she did, I …”

Maker, had he missed something? She was always with him, but could he have caught this sooner if he’d paid her more attention?

“Well, you are a grizzled old war hero,” Dr. Rutherford said calmly, focusing and bringing the needle thing in close. “Anything short of losing a limb isn’t worth worrying Dad over, right?”

Alistair let out a sigh, and his stomach settled a little. That was true. Once, during the Blight, no one had realized she was bleeding from one of her haunches until hours after the battle when they were all about to settle in for the night. Even Dom had missed it, and Alistair had never known anyone as good with mabari as him.

No. He shook his head, brushing the memories away and focusing on his girl. Dom wasn’t here, he was, and Barkspawn needed him right now.

“… know you’re used to far worse than this,” Dr. Rutherford was saying now. “But you know, you don’t need to be so tough all the time.”

Just as he finished the word “tough,” he quickly jabbed her leg with the needle, and Barkspawn actually yelped.

Alistair started, his heart beating overtime, and he had to bite his tongue to hold in a (profanity- and insult-laced) outburst of his own.

Dr. Rutherford was trying to help. He wouldn’t hurt her on purpose.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know that pinched,” Dr. Rutherford said, and dabbled the needle onto the clear flat thing, transferring whatever liquid it carried. “But if I warned you, it would have been worse. I promise that was the worst part. Let Dad know you’re okay. You scared him.”

And amazingly, as if Alistair himself had given her an order in battle, she did exactly what Dr. Rutherford had instructed — she opened her eyes, nudging Alistair’s hand and even giving it a lick. Alistair felt something inside him unclench and let out a shaky breath before pressing his forehead to hers once again.

“This is pus, which means you’ve definitely got some sort of infection, love,” said Dr. Rutherford.

Alistair grew nauseous at the news, blankly watching Dr. Rutherford remove his gloves and toss them into the trash. And then, like mild-mannered Clark Kent changing in the phone booth, Dr. Rutherford took off his glasses and Alistair was distracted yet again.

Damn. Maybe it was for the best that Dr. Rutherford didn’t look at him directly because otherwise he might start missing pertinent information.

Dr. Rutherford patted Barkspawn’s belly and met her gaze once again. “So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take a look at this and see what we’re dealing with, but I’m also going to bring you back so we can clean all this gunk out of your leg and poke around to see if we can’t figure out what caused it. We’ll give you a local anesthetic for the pain so it won’t hurt like it just did. Pretty straightforward, and the good news is that hopefully your leg will feel much better when we’re done.”

He stroked her between her ears again, continuing to focus only on her.

“The bad news is that Dad can’t come with you.”

Alistair’s hand once again curled protectively into her fur, and he inhaled to protest, but Barkspawn beat him to it by lifting her head and whining.

“I know it’s a bit scary,” Dr. Rutherford said, scratching her under her chin, and whether or not it was intended for Barkspawn, the compassion in his voice soothed Alistair. “But I promise it won’t take long. Maybe ten minutes tops, and then I’ll bring you back and explain what we find. We’ll also do some blood work to make absolutely sure this is a straightforward infection, but my gut tells me it’ll come back fine.” With a slight shake of his hand, which now held her chin, he spoke cheerily. “This is good! An infection we can handle with antibiotics. So be a brave girl and tell Dad it’ll only be for a bit and that you’re in good hands, okay? Then we’ll head back.”

And Maker, Barkspawn heaved herself to her feet without a peep and nuzzled her head into Alistair’s, bumping their noses and licking his cheek and actually lifting her injured paw to rest it against his chest for a moment.

Alistair’s vision blurred, but he nuzzled her back. “See? His gut says it’s just an infection.” He swallowed and added thickly, “You worry too much, B.”

She huffed out her version of a chuckle and licked his nose. Then she turned to Dr. Rutherford.

“Ready?” he asked. When she nudged his hand, he patted her head, and then lifted her into his arms and headed for the door. Before Alistair could blink, he’d maneuvered to somehow reach the handle, opened the door, and was gone.

Just like that, Dr. Cullen Rutherford had lifted his two-hundred-plus-pound mabari, opened a door, and carried her who knew how far into the back, biceps and triceps and deltoids threatening to rip his scrubs like Popeye the Sailor after he ate spinach.

Fuck. Alistair needed to focus on Barkspawn, not on her new, understanding, weirdly charming, almost unbelievably attractive veterinarian.

He sat down heavily on the bench in the room and buried his face in his hands. He was being disgustingly selfish right now. His girl was in pain and getting her leg drained because of an infection caused by something that he had missed. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself. Maker’s breath, he _needed_ her, especially after —

That was when he got up and started to read all the signs on the wall about watching for coyotes or not letting your dog eat chocolate or grapes or pot brownies — Maker. When he was finished with those, he read all the way through pamphlets about pet insurance and canine diabetes, and then he started to pace, occasionally opening unlocked drawers just to see what was in them and letting his imagination run away with all the horrific things the various tools he found might do — and, in fact, might be currently doing — to his beloved companion.

Alistair had been alone in the room for seventeen minutes when the door opened and the vet tech from before led Barkspawn in on a leash. Her leg was wrapped from her foot to about halfway up her elbow, above the wrist — did dogs have wrists, or elbows, for that matter? With her foot trapped inside the bandage, she walked like that time he tried putting snow booties on her, with a weird sort of high step, shaking her leg occasionally as if that could remove the bandage.

She hobbled over, and he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, blinking back tears of relief at seeing her again in spite of Dr. Rutherford’s positive assurances.

“She was a champ,” the tech said, removing the leash. “All cleaned out and bandaged. We used an anesthetic, so she isn’t feeling much in that leg. Dr. Rutherford is cleaning up and will be back in a few minutes to explain things.”

Alistair thanked her and when she turned to leave, asked the question that had been bugging him. “So, uh, is he always like that? With the Dr. Doolittle shtick?”

“Oh, Dr. Rutherford?” She smiled. “Yes, but it’s not a shtick, that’s how he works. I know it’s a little odd, but he’s a brilliant vet. He’s just … more comfortable with animals than people. He’s amazing with them. Sometimes I swear they really understand him. And once you get used to it, it’s actually rather endearing.”

Alistair nodded, contemplating while scratching Barkspawn in her favorite spot between her shoulders. “He does have quite a soothing presence, and he definitely knows his stuff.”

“He’s getting pretty popular around here,” she said. “Everyone adores him, especially Dr. Dennet. Our biggest worry is that we’ll lose him to one of the big clinics that can offer him more than we can.”

“I don’t know,” said Alistair. “He doesn’t really seem like a big clinic kind of guy. Or like money is his main motivation.”

She laughed. “From your lips to the Maker’s ears. Hopefully he’ll stick around for a little while. He’ll be in shortly to talk with you.”

And then she left Alistair to ponder Dr. Rutherford and his potential career choices.

Barkspawn brought him back to what was important — her — and nuzzled into him with a whine, kicking out her bandaged leg.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he said. “Quit acting like you lost your leg to darkspawn. Isabela would laugh at your cliche and vaguely offensive pirate impression.”

Barkspawn growled softly, ending with a truly pathetic whimper.

“Hey, I’m telling you the truth, as a friend — you look ridiculous.”

She snorted defiantly just as Dr. Rutherford entered, carrying some papers and a few bottles.

Alistair watched him set it all on the counter and still didn’t manage to catch his gaze, as it was once again on Barkspawn. Which made sense, considering she was his patient and the one in all the pain. But while his odd bedside manner was, as the tech had said, rather endearing — setting aside Alistair’s gratitude at his care and investment in Barkspawn — it was getting more awkward by the minute.

And was it really a crime that Alistair wanted the hot vet to look at and speak to him?

But Dr. Rutherford sat on his wheely stool again and waved Barkspawn over. “Come here, Peg-Leg.”

Alistair laughed. “See? It’s not just me!”

For the first time, Dr. Rutherford reacted to Alistair. He didn’t look up, but he definitely smirked, and not at Barkspawn’s antics.

It was a nice smirk — lopsided and adorable, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and Maker, was that a dimple? Something fluttered in Alistair’s stomach.

But too quickly, it was gone, and Alistair wracked his brain to find some way to bring it back.

Barkspawn, however, shot him a long-suffering look over her shoulder as she ambled toward Dr. Rutherford.

“I know,” Dr. Rutherford said, scratching her between the ears. “But cut Dad some slack. You’ve worried him, and you’re his just as much as he is yours. And that was before we were back there for almost twenty minutes when I said it would only take ten.”

Barkspawn glanced at Alistair, who was taken aback. This Dr. Rutherford was … something else. His bedside manner might be unique, but it wasn’t lacking. Just different.

He understood what Alistair was going through and was apologizing, in his own way. The knot that had settled in his stomach when he’d first realized Barkspawn’s leg was hurting loosened significantly, and he smiled gently at his girl to let her know he was okay.

“Now. The details.” Dr. Rutherford said, resting his forearms on his knees to look her in the eyes. “You definitely have a nasty infection going on. We couldn’t find a direct cause — usually the drainage tracks for all the gunk can lead back to where the issue started, but there didn’t seem to be a ground zero, so to speak. We didn’t find any foreign objects like a splinter or thorn or anything, so odds are something just got irritated somewhere along the line, and you kept scratching and licking that spot until it got infected.” He tapped her on the nose with a finger. “No more of that now, okay?”

Barkspawn whined and lifted her bum leg to set it on his knee.

“I know it hurts, but we have some things for that.” He grabbed one bottle of pills and shook it. “This is for the pain. The anesthetic will last for a good few hours, but you should take this for the next couple of days. It will make your leg feel better, but only if you don’t act all tough for Dad, okay?”

Barkspawn glanced over her shoulder again at Alistair, apologetic and pitiful.

“This bottle” — Dr. Rutherford grabbed a second bottle of pills and shook it — “is an antibiotic. It will make your leg _get_ better. You have to take all of these, okay? They don’t taste great, but that’s just life. You won’t be rid of the infection until they’re all gone. And this last one —”

He picked up a larger bottle, which Alistair could tell from its shape and sound was filled with liquid.

“This is a special antibiotic shampoo. The bandage stays on for two days, then the leg gets washed with this stuff daily to make it get better from the outside. Now — bandage rules.”

Dr. Rutherford bent low until his head was level with Barkspawn’s, their noses almost touching. Alistair grinned; this was rapidly speeding past endearing and headed straight toward adorable.

Dr. Rutherford held up a single finger and then bopped her nose. “One — it stays dry. That means no frolicking in puddles and no licking, or else you get The Cone.”

At that, Barkspawn let out a long whine, sat, and bowed her head.

Alistair rolled his eyes, grinning. “Don’t be such a drama queen. You don’t even like puddles.”

Like before, Dr. Rutherford didn’t look up at him, but he did press his lips together to hide a small smile, and Alistair felt a surge of pride.

“Two.” He tapped Barkspawn’s nose again, this time with two fingers. “When the bandage comes off, rule one applies double. That’s why it’s rule two.”

Alistair snorted, and though the smirk didn’t reappear, Dr. Rutherford’s mouth twitched up at the corners.

Ugh, this just wasn’t fair.

“Three.” Three fingers poked Barkspawn’s nose. “Take it easy. No long walks. I won’t say complete bed rest, but padding around the house to eat and going outside to the bathroom should be about it, okay?”

Barkspawn whimpered and lay down at Dr. Rutherford’s feet, head on her paws and big brown eyes wide and pitiful.

Dr. Rutherford gave a sympathetic chuckle and ruffled her head between the ears. “I know. I’m the worst. But this is important. No being tough this time. You worried Dad plenty already, so now you have to follow doctor’s orders until you’re better.”

He placed the bottles on the counter and picked up a piece of paper.

“Now, I know how smart mabari are, so I’m sure you’ll remember and follow everything I said, but just in case, I wrote it down right here for Dad. Oh.” He snapped his fingers. “One more thing. We drew some blood to do a few tests, just to be sure it’s not anything bigger than a simple infection. You might still look and feel young, but you’re retired and … well, not as young as you used to be. Don’t worry, it happens to us all eventually.”

Alistair tried to smile at that, but the implications made his gut churn.

“So since you’re a little more at risk now for some not-so-nice things, we just want to be on the safe side.” Dr. Rutherford cupped Barkspawn under the chin so she had to look at him again. “I’m not worried. But those tests will take a couple days, so I’ll be giving you a call when I get the results.”

He scratched under her chin, another of her favorite spots, and Barkspawn let her eyes fall closed, tail wagging up a storm.

Alistair’s chest warmed seeing how much better she already felt.

“You are a sweet girl,” Dr. Rutherford murmured, almost to himself. “Any questions for me?”

Barkspawn snorted and stood, walking toward Alistair, as if to check for his response.

Alistair spoke to her — which, he realized with a _duh_ , he did all the time anyway, so was it really so weird for Dr. Rutherford to do it, too? “That all sounds good. As punishment for worrying me, I guess you’ll just have to be lazy around the house for the next two weeks. How sad for you.”

She nuzzled him, and he grinned. His heart felt several tons lighter now that he knew she wasn’t in danger. Yes, there were a few tests to hear back about, but she was fine. Maker, he loved her so much and couldn’t imagine his life without her.

“I’m sure you’ll be the most miserable couch potato,” Dr. Rutherford said.

His smile was bright and sweet, almost too much for Alistair, whose heart grew lighter still, though for a different reason now.

“All right, Barkspawn. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Dr. Rutherford bent down and actually placed a kiss on her head. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, and I’ll see you again in two weeks to check up and make sure everything heals properly.”

And he picked up his clipboard headed for the door.

When Alistair realized that the appointment was finished, he said, “Thank you.” He swallowed, and his throat stung just a bit. “Dr. Rutherford.”

Dr. Rutherford turned at that, and for the first time, he met Alistair’s gaze. Not for long — only an instant, two at most — but enough for Alistair to get a good look at his eyes.

Gentle. Kind. Soft, swirling pools of molten honey that Alistair could drown in if he let himself.

And then they were gone, aimed at the floor, replaced in Alistair’s vision by ears and cheeks turned pink.

A nod. “See you in two weeks.”

Then he left, and Alistair let out a long, slow breath.

“Well.” He gathered up the bottles and instructions before looking down at Barkspawn. “He’s not Dr. Dennet, but he seems like a pretty nice guy, I guess.”

Barkspawn perked her ears and tilted her head.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little fic started out light and fluffy, but chapters two and three grew a bit of angst. Read the tags, but don't worry: this one will have a happy, hopeful ending.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, this chapter ran longer than expected, so whoops! Now there will be four chapters. Unfortunately, that means this one ends on a sadder note (because I can't just write a fluffy vet!Cullen AU, apparently). But it's the worst one; there will be a happy ending, I promise!
> 
> Second, some of the tags have been updated. This specific chapter includes trigger warnings for the following topics: violence (canon-typical), past DAO/Blight character deaths (including a mabari), PTSD, heightened anxiety/anxiety attack, extended grief/mourning, emotional pain released via safe but intense outburst. Alistair's got some stuff.

Over the next few days, Alistair tried to put thoughts of Dr. Cullen Rutherford — and all the complicated feelings he stirred up — from his mind.

But that was hard to do when interacting with Barkspawn was an almost constant reminder.

Good reminders, at least initially. The first day after the appointment, when he fed Barkspawn breakfast, she whined and brushed up against his leg, holding her paw up.

“Hurting again, huh? How about one of those pain pills Dr. Rutherford gave us?”

And Maker help him, but she opened her mouth, tongue out, like she did when she wanted a treat.

Alistair blinked several times. “Excuse me?”

She didn’t move, just stared at him with her tongue out like he was a moron who couldn’t understand basic instructions.

“How about I just put it in your food like the other one and you can eat them all together and not have to taste them? Sound good?”

He did, and she inhaled her food, pills and all, before returning to the couch and taking a nap.

Holy shit. He’d never been able to get her to take pills like that.

Mabari were famous for following orders and complicated war plans, and Barkspawn was no exception. During the Blight, she and Alistair had worked like two limbs of the same body, and on a few occasions she’d shocked him by doing something he had only thought but hadn’t had time to speak aloud.

Even then, though, Barkspawn had often considered orders more like guidelines. She was a stubborn old girl, fiercely independent and smart as a whip; if she felt like an order was dumb, she ignored it. And her judgment was usually spot-on, especially when it came to Alistair’s safety.

So when the Blight ended and they’d retired, Alistair had been frustrated but not surprised that off the battlefield, Barkspawn rarely took orders gracefully, even from him. That wasn’t normally a problem, since even Alistair could admit now that many of his “orders” to her, particularly right after the defeat of the archdemon, were petulant and arose from a soul-deep pain. But Alistair was _hers_ , and her job was to protect him from everything, including himself. Even if that meant ignoring every word he cursed or shouted or sobbed at her.

And once things improved — due in large part to her stubborn and fierce loyalty to him — Barkspawn had seen no reason to go back to listening to what he had to say. She had long since evolved past the need to be told what to do, from an additional weapon wielded in battle to a true companion and friend. And honestly, Alistair preferred things that way.

Unfortunately, that often meant she ignored him even when he tried to return all her favors by doing _his_ best to protect _her_ , especially from herself. If she wasn’t hungry, she didn’t eat, even if that meant skipping a day or two of meals. If she was tired, she slept, and if that meant not going outside to exercise for a whole week, oh well. If she was sick and she didn’t like the meds he gave her, she refused them, no matter how many times he assured her they would help her feel better.

In the end, she’d grown to be just as stubborn as he was. They were truly a match made by Andraste — two friends who loved and respected each other immensely, up to and including lovingly and respectfully telling the other when they could fuck right off.

All of which meant that when they’d left the appointment, Alistair had been prepared to force-feed her the pills if necessary. But only a couple of scoldings and gentle requests by Dr. Rutherford and she was following instructions as if Alistair had thought them at her in the heat of battle.

They continued their routine — eating, taking pills, returning to the couch to rest — that evening, the next morning, the next evening, and into the day after that. And every time she whined for her pain pill, Alistair’s heart felt a little bit lighter because she was doing what she needed to get better.

That lightness in his heart quickly warmed into a fondness. Dr. Rutherford had done in less than an hour what no one, not Alistair or even Dom, had been able to do over the course of her entire life. Alistair didn’t know how, but it seemed like a miracle. And every time she took her pill without complaint or returned to the couch to rest without being asked, he thought about Dr. Rutherford and his calm demeanor and his soothing voice and his bulging — uh, heart. Full of kindness.

He thanked the Maker for sending him such a wonderful vet when Barkspawn needed it, and tried to ignore any other feelings he might be having beyond that.

On day three, however, when he finally removed the bandage from Barkspawn’s leg, Alistair had some vastly different words for the Maker on the subject of Dr. Rutherford.

“Maker’s balls!”

Shredded. Scabbed. Blood on the inside of the bandage. No, no, no …

He gripped the bandage tightly as his eyes filled with tears of helplessness and rage.

“What in the name of Andraste did that fucker do to your leg?”

Barkspawn immediately lowered her head, mouth open and tongue out to —

“Don’t touch it!” Alistair snapped, and she jerked back with a whimper, but not one of pain or comfort. She hadn’t made that noise in a long time, and it broke his heart.

She was frightened. Of him.

Oh, Maker.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her fur. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just —” She nuzzled her head against his cheek, and he focused on the warmth of her body and the steady thumps of her heart. “This whole thing is taking me back. You worried me sick, and …” He took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, B.”

After a minute or so, during which she sat with him patiently, he had calmed enough to pull away.

“All right. Just like during the Blight, okay? Let me see it.”

She allowed him to take her paw in his hands and examine it more closely this time. He’d seen more than his fair share of nasty injuries on himself and others (and yes, on mabari), and this one … wasn’t.

A large section of her “forearm” was shaved completely of fur, and in the middle was a single incision where the leg had been lanced, but it was fairly small and expertly — courtesy of all those student loans, he supposed — stitched up. Yes, it had scabbed, and it would almost definitely scar, but overall it was far less dire than his initial assessment and reaction had called for.

In fact, it was healing up rather nicely.

“This actually looks pretty good, B.” He let out a nervous, relieved laugh and scratch her behind the ears. “Thank the Maker,” he added with a sigh. “Now let’s get it clean. I bet this special soap will help.”

Barkspawn wasn’t fond of having her leg washed with the medicated shampoo, and Alistair couldn’t blame her; washing a relatively fresh injury was never fun.

When it was done, he asked, “How’s it feeling?”

She picked up her paw and rubbed it against her face while looking him straight in the eye.

“Smartass.” He smirked, pulling her paw away. “All right, you know the drill. Keep it dry, and leave it alone. And that includes rubbing.”

She snorted, displeased.

“Dr. Rutherford’s orders, remember? You’ve been doing so well, sweetheart. Don’t make me get _The Cone_.” He deepened his voice and waggled his fingers

She looked offended and annoyed at the mere suggestion. Then, pointedly ignoring his antics, she headed for the living room, hopped up onto the couch, and promptly fell asleep.

He was careful to watch her, but they’d been through far worse. And maybe it was her own understanding of the situation, or perhaps his severe (and, in retrospect, embarrassing) reaction, but she behaved herself and didn’t even try to lick or nudge at the incision.

And because of how well she was recovering — walking around without limping, no longer whining for her pain pill — Alistair only remembered on day four that he was supposed to get a call from Dr. Rutherford about her blood test results.

Should have gotten one already, in fact.

The week progressed, and though Barkspawn continued to show marked improvement every day, each night that he went to bed with no update on the test results ratcheted up his anxiety even further. Increased anxiety meant less sleep, and less sleep for Alistair meant less sleep for Barkspawn.

But she was still healing and needed her rest.

“It’ll be okay,” he assured her when they were both in bed the night of day six after the appointment. “We’ll probably hear from him tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

She sat and eyed him blankly, not budging an inch.

“I’m going to sleep, too. Look.” For her sake, he lay down on his back and closed his eyes.

She stayed still for a minute or so to make sure he wouldn’t try to get up again, but he could be as stubborn as she was when he wanted. After an Age, she seemed mollified and circled her spot seven or eight times before settling in next to him, head resting on his chest.

Alistair swallowed painfully and tried to push away memories of another time she’d used her body to keep him in place. The stubborn little demon was too smart for her — and his — own good sometimes.

Blinking away tears, he shifted his arm to wrap it around her and kissed the top of her head. In a way she hadn’t since she was a puppy, she adorably snuffled and snuggled into him before beginning to snore softly.

Wide awake, he stared up and looked for patterns on the ceiling. He often did so on sleepless nights as a Rorschach test of sorts that served as good indicators of his emotional state.

Tonight the pattern took on the shape of the archdemon and its horde of darkspawn facing off against two lonely dots who didn’t stand a chance.

The doomed, pathetic fuckers.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, but that wouldn’t cease the questions zipping through his head at high speed.

What could be causing the delay? Surely if everything was okay, they’d find out quickly, right? But there were plenty of possible explanations. Maybe there was a backup at the lab, or the blood got lost in the mail. Did they even mail samples like that? Or maybe the results got lost in the mail, or some intern messed up the test, or Dr. Rutherford had gotten hit by a bus.

His heart clenched painfully for reasons he was finding more difficult to ignore. But even anxiety-induced sleep deprivation was better than that.

Maybe … maybe the results were bad. Maybe the infection was deeper than they’d thought, or she had some sort of blood condition that kept her from getting better. Maybe she had a tumor in that leg, and they had to do more tests to see what kind it was. Maybe she had cancer, and she only had a little while left to live, and Dr. Rutherford thought he was being kind by keeping them in the dark a while longer.

But that wasn’t kind at all. Tears started to stream down his face as he contemplated his life without Barkspawn. Things had been difficult these past few years _with_ her. If she left him just like everyone else, he wasn’t sure how long he could go on.

He opened his eyes and glared at the ceiling, willing the darkspawn horde to morph into something else … anything else.

It didn’t, but the search calmed him enough for his heartbeat to even out, and once it was back to normal, he took a deep breath and asked himself:

Why _else_ might the results have been delayed?

Maybe the paperwork wasn’t in the right order. Or someone forgot to fax a page — did people even use fax machines anymore? — or they sent it to the wrong lab. Or maybe the lab’s brand new tech still wasn’t sure which gloves fit right and dropped the vial of blood to the floor, where it shattered, and, not wanting to fess up to a mistake in their first week at a new job — because they had student loans and ten kids at home and also a few dogs because kids needed to have dogs — just mopped it up and didn’t tell anyone so no one knew the results hadn’t been completed …

The possibilities were endless.

But so were his worries.

* * *

Alistair’s increased anxiety over the test results meant that he spent days six, seven, and eight checking his phone every five minutes and answering every incoming call within a few seconds of the ring, even with unknown numbers that he’d normally have let go to voicemail.

Unfortunately, that meant he spent too much time trying and failing to politely hang up on telemarketers or spammers.

By end of day eight after the appointment, Alistair had spent hours debating whether to call the office himself or wait one more day. Not wanting to be one of Those Clients, he eventually decided on the latter and settled in to watch tv while studiously ignoring the nefarious voice in his head that told him he should enjoy this time with Barkspawn while he had the chance.

Evening found him on the couch, flipping through channels with one hand and the other gently petting Barkspawn, who was curled into a ball at his side. She’d been clingy since all this started. But then again, so had he.

His phone startled them both when it rang. He snatched it, pausing at the unknown number when he realized the time — almost nine p.m. An odd hour for a vet to call.

Still, the idea of having to gently refuse yet another Dwarven crafts telemarketer was much less devastating than the thought of missing the chance to hear Dr. Rutherford’s soothing voice in real-time speaking to him directly, without Barkspawn as a middle-mabari.

And the test results. To hear the test results. Obviously.

With a deep breath and a final worried glance at Barkspawn, Alistair placed his hand on her back (a gesture she returned with a paw on his leg) and answered, heart pounding.

“Hello, this is Alistair.”

The sound of shuffling on the other end. Then a cough.

Alistair frowned at Barkspawn. “Hello?”

A clearing of a throat, and then, finally, “Good evening. This is Dr. Cullen Rutherford with Denerim Veterinary Clinic. Is, er, Barkspawn available?”

Maker, just hearing that mellifluous voice sapped some of the tension from Alistair. He was about to get answers.

Hang on — “Barkspawn?”

Another cough. “Yes, that’s right.”

Mother of Andraste, was he serious? Why couldn’t he just give them the results like a normal person?

“Uh, sure.” Alistair met Barkspawn’s gaze with a raised an eyebrow. “She’s sitting right next to me. Let me, uh, put you on speaker.”

Maker, this was utterly ridiculous.

Ears perked now, Barkspawn lifted her head and tilted it to the side.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Say ‘hi,’ B.”

She let out a soft _woof_.

Dr. Rutherford let out an awkward chuckle. “Ah, yes. Barkspawn. I’m, er, calling about the results of your blood test, and I’m pleased to say that, with the exception of an elevated white blood cell count — which we expected to find due to the infection,” he added hurriedly. “Everything came back negative. You’re fit as a fiddle, girl.”

Alistair let out an enormous (and mostly silent) sigh as the tightness that had slowly coiled in his gut over the past several days suddenly released. He brought a hand to his eyes to wipe away tears of relief, and his voice might have been a bit thick when he murmured, “Thank the Maker.”

There was a brief pause, and Alistair almost said hello again, when Dr. Rutherford continued.

“I sincerely apologize for the delay.” Dr. Rutherford’s lovely baritone shifted off-key. “I said I would call several days ago, and I’m sure — I’m sure Dad has been worried sick, and for that I’m truly sorry. I wish I could blame it on the results being delayed, but the truth is, well …” His voice gave out. He cleared his throat, but it didn’t work; when he spoke again, the words were thick. “I lost two patients this week, and I’m afraid it slipped my mind.”

Alistair’s heart dropped like a stone, and he gaped at Barkspawn. She was always steadier than he was, though, and nudged the hand that held the phone.

He made a few language-adjacent noises before words came. “We — we’re awfully sorry to hear that.” Another nudge from Barkspawn — as if he needed it to know he should say something more — and he added, softly, “Were they … unexpected?”

“No — Yes.” A small noise like a scoff or a sigh. “One was and one wasn’t. Sort of. That is — I mean —” A larger sigh, followed by a long silence.

Alistair looked to Barkspawn and shook his head helplessly, but she was already moving. She sat up straight and whined into the phone.

Dr. Rutherford inhaled deeply. “One was … older,” he said, voice steady now but so quiet Alistair turned up the phone to hear him. “It wasn’t unexpected, but he went downhill far more rapidly than I’d hoped. And the other —”

There was a noise not unlike a hiccup, and Alistair felt sick, like he was eavesdropping. Intruding on a private moment he had no right to.

“The other was my very first patient here in Denerim. Sweet, young, perfectly healthy. Practically still a puppy. There was an accident, and … well.”

_Blood. Bodies everywhere. Alistair sprinted as fast as his legs and body armor allowed, vision blurring, swiping at his face and praying to the Maker to please, please let them be all right …_

Barkspawn whimpered, and only when she licked at his face did Alistair realize his eyes had filled with tears.

“That’s … really shitty,” Alistair blurted.

Dr. Rutherford huffed something that might have been half a laugh.

“We’re both so sorry,” said Alistair. “You did everything you could, surely.” Barkspawn quietly _woof_ ed her agreement.

“I just — if I’d —”

Barkspawn full out barked at that. Loudly. Alistair winced, and if he’d heard the noise on the other end accurately, so did Dr. Rutherford.

“Yeah, but maybe not so loud next time?” Alistair grumbled at her. “She’s right, though,” he spoke into the phone. “Don’t go down that road. There lies danger.”

Barkspawn nudged him several times under the chin. He pushed her away, but she returned and continued nudging him until he silently mouthed, _“Okay!”_

Aloud, he said, “B and I know a little bit about that. Feeling responsible for someone else’s life and …”

The memory he’d spent all week trying to keep from surfacing did just that, as clear and vivid as if it had happened yesterday.

_Covered in darkspawn blood and still clutching his weapon, Alistair threw his free arm around Dom’s waist and yanked him into a desperate kiss. Dom returned it with the same ferocity and passion he did everything, including uniting Ferelden against the darkspawn._

_They both knew this was it._

_“I love you,” Alistair breathed when they finally parted._

_“I love you, too,” Dom said. “And I’m sorry.”_

_Then he yanked their final grenade from Alistair’s belt, swept Alistair’s legs out from under him, and took off running._

_Alistair hit the ground chest-first. He tried to call Dom’s name, but the fall had knocked the air from his lungs._

_“Keep him back, Barkspawn,” Dom shouted over his shoulder._

_Alistair tried to roll over, but Barkspawn was faster, leaping onto his back with her full weight. He shoved at her and ordered, “Off!”_

_She barked but otherwise ignored him, and he could only watch helplessly as Dom and his own mabari sprinted toward the archdemon._

_“No!” Alistair screamed, but Dom had already pulled the pin, diving onto the dragon with his faithful mabari companion by his side._

“… and failing,” Alistair finished, speaking into the phone.

Barkspawn placed her still-healing paw on his shoulder, and he wiped his tears into her fur. She’d been with him when, after the dust had settled, he’d collapsed to his knees near what remained of the archdemon to cradle the lifeless body of Dom Cousland, whose own mabari lay dead at his side.

“Did you lose many comrades during the Blight?” Dr. Rutherford asked softly.

Barkspawn answered for them both with a _woof_ , but Alistair spoke anyway. “Too many. Not all of them people.”

Barkspawn whimpered at that, and Alistair rested his forehead against hers. She and Dom’s mabari were littermates, and he’d refused to leave Dom’s side even up to the end. He had been a very good boy.

“Maker’s breath,” Dr. Rutherford whispered. “I’m so sor —”

Alistair cleared his throat and spoke loudly over him. “But what B was trying to say is that blaming yourself …” He closed his eyes as he repeated something that had kept him going since the Blight. “… won’t do anything except drag you down with them.”

The years since the end of the Blight had been difficult for them both, but Barkspawn had recovered more quickly because Alistair had needed her help.

Fuck, this was all wrong. What was he doing? He’d spent the past week trying _not_ to think about all this.

And why in the Maker’s name was he talking about it now with this complete stranger who’d healed Barkspawn’s leg and assured him she’d be fine and had gotten her to _listen_ for once and do what was best for her?

He knew why, and the thought made him nauseous.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that the kind, healing mabari-whisperer spoke in have a sweet, soothing voice and just also happened to be incredibly hot.

And _that_ made his chest constrict until he thought his heart might rip apart, its deep scars providing perforation to facilitate its breaking.

“Of course you’re right, girl,” Dr. Rutherford said gently. “This week has just been exceptionally difficult. Losing patients is never easy, but I don’t usually take it so much to heart or consider it a judgment of my skills as a vet.”

Barkspawn actually growled at the phone, which unsettled Alistair. She only ever growled at anyone who presented a danger to him — these days, usually himself.

But this growl wasn’t to protect him, or to warn against Dr. Rutherford. It was _for_ Dr. Rutherford. To protect him from his own thoughts about himself.

Maker, he couldn’t remember the last time she’d growled in protection of someone else.

No, that wasn’t true. He could, he just didn’t want to.

“Is she — are you all right, sweetie?” Dr. Rutherford asked. “How are —”

“Barkspawn vehemently disagrees with you,” Alistair translated into the phone. “About your skills as a vet.”

Dr. Rutherford chuckled. “That’s very kind, sweetheart.”

But Barkspawn was nudging the phone — not Alistair, or his hand, but the phone itself — with her nose, then looking at Alistair.

He knew that gesture.

“What do you want me to say, B?” he asked, but she only grew more insistent. Lifting her still-healing leg, then nudging the phone with her nose, then nuzzling Alistair’s shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

She repeated the series of actions over and over — her leg, the phone, his shoulder. Her leg, the phone, his shoulder.

Her leg — her.

The phone — Dr. Rutherford.

His shoulder — him.

No, wait. Nuzzling his shoulder.

_Them._ Alistair and herself as a pair.

Oh.

“You want me to tell him about how he … ?” Alistair wagged a finger back and forth between the two of them.

She _woof_ ed enthusiastically and spun around in a circle.

Because of course, even in her pain, she’d noticed how Dr. Rutherford was different.

“Okay. So, uh, Barkspawn wants me to tell you that …” Alistair took a deep breath, stalling for time to find the right words. “That you’re the best vet we’ve ever had. Because you get it.”

“Get what?” Maker, he could almost hear the frown through the phone.

“Us. Me and her. Our … bond.”

“You mean your imprint?”

“You say it like it’s obvious, but it’s not to everyone.” Barkspawn bumped her head into his, and he smiled. “Most people think it’s an old folk myth. Or that I’m exaggerating. Even Dr. Dennet —”

“Dr. Dennet’s specialty is horses,” Dr. Rutherford explained. “It’s not that he doesn’t care about small animals, because he absolutely does. He’s just …” He hesitated, and Alistair knew he was trying not to badmouth his boss to a patient.

Alistair saved him. “Not very familiar with mabari,” he finished. “They aren’t that common anymore, especially in the cities. But you …”

“I’ve spent my career as a vet in small Fereldan towns,” Dr. Rutherford said with a chuckle. “Often traveling between them as the only one for miles. I’ve treated my fair share of mabari. That’s actually why Dr. Dennet brought me on. So he could —” He cleared his throat. “I probably shouldn’t tell you that,” he muttered.

Barkspawn, who had been laying down with her head on Alistair’s thigh, perked up, her tail whapping rapidly against the couch.

Alistair snorted. “B says you can’t stop there, right before all the juicy gossip.”

“Barkspawn,” Dr. Rutherford said seriously. “I need you to swear you will not speak a word of this to anyone.”

She responded with a soft _woof_.

“Okay, then. Good girl.”

Alistair grinned at the way Dr. Rutherford accepted that, ignoring his own presence as usual and speaking to Barkspawn like … well, like Alistair always did.

And something about the way Dr. Rutherford spoke, the way he understood Alistair’s bond with Barkspawn — and thus truly understood _him_ — sparked something in his chest that Alistair hadn’t realized had been ice cold until it warmed him from head to toe.

“The truth is,” Dr. Rutherford said, actually _whispering_ , and Alistair thought he might die from the cuteness. “That Dr. Dennet misses large animal practice, and he brought me in to eventually take over the clinic here in Denerim.”

Alistair’s stomach did a little flip of excitement at the idea of Dr. Rutherford taking over the practice. That meant he’d be around for a long time. Alistair found himself smiling almost drunkenly at the phone. Barkspawn was similarly eager, tail wagging wildly and tongue lolling in a doggy smile.

“You’d better tell your vet techs that,” Alistair said, grinning like a fool. “Because they’re convinced some big clinic’s going to lure you away with an offer you can’t refuse.”

Dr. Rutherford let out a chuckle, and wow, was it a good one. It dipped into a lower register that made Alistair shiver. His chest practically rumbled with it, and his stomach swooped like he sat at the pinnacle of a roller coaster.

“I’ve tried,” Dr. Rutherford said, and Maker, how could he make talking about veterinary administration sound so appealing? “They just can’t believe that I’d want to stay at such a small clinic. But I didn’t become a vet for the money.”

“All that student debt being Exhibits A through Z.”

And oh, that laugh again … even deeper this time, with a hint of something else that infected Alistair with a sudden case of goosebumps.

“Exactly,” said that sonorous voice. “And Dr. Dennet is still getting things organized on his end and doesn’t want the information out there just yet. I imagine the rumors will run rampant until then.”

“This might be a big city, but people still love to gossip.” Alistair didn’t really care what they were talking about now, so long as they kept talking.

“Not all that different from small-town Fereldans.” Then Dr. Rutherford cleared his throat. “So remember, Barkspawn, you’re sworn to secrecy.”

Although he wished they hadn’t veered back into the pseudo-formality of talking through a mabari, Alistair let out a breathless laugh, and Barkspawn, curled up next to him now, gave a little _woof_ of acknowledgment.

Alistair’s heart sped up as he wracked his brain for another topic before Dr. Rutherford found an excuse to get off the phone.

“And that’s an official direction from your doctor,” Dr. Rutherford continued. “Which means you have to do it, no matter what anyone else says, even Dad.”

A sharp, searing pain shot through Alistair’s chest. He heard Barkspawn _woof_ in agreement, tail wagging, but not much else due to the sudden roaring in his ears.

Because only once had Barkspawn ignored Alistair to follow another’s order.

And that had been the end of everything.

“… should ask how your leg’s doing,” Dr. Rutherford was saying, oblivious to the heart-wrenching, soul-rending pain his off-hand comment had caused. “Healing up all right?”

“Great,” Alistair bit out through gritted teeth. Barkspawn sat up sharply. “Lots better, thanks. Listen, I — we should —”

“Oh, of course,” Dr. Rutherford said hurriedly. “I’m so sorry for keeping you.”

“No, it’s all right, we just need to get to bed.”

“Yes, well, I — I’m glad to hear you’re on the mend, Barkspawn,” Dr. Rutherford said, kind as ever. “And I apologize again for the delay in getting you the test results.”

“No problem.” Alistair hated the curtness bordering on rudeness in his own words, but the pain in his chest expanded with every second that damned soothing voice continued to speak.

“And I — thank you,” Dr. Rutherford nearly whispered. “For sharing your experiences. I truly appreciate it.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Barkspawn.”

Alistair squeezed his eyes shut and tried to slow his breathing before he completely lost it. “Right, yeah, thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll see you for your checkup in a week.”

“Yep, yeah, definitely, see you then.”

“Good ni —”

Alistair hung up and threw his phone across the room.

Barkspawn whimpered and lay down next to him, ready to receive him as he collapsed atop her and buried his face in her fur.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She licked his cheek and curled her body to cradle his head, but that didn’t stop the onslaught of memories that increased the pressure in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, hoping to provide a release before he shattered completely.

But still the pressure grew until it surpassed the limit of his heart and he was in danger of exploding

And then he did.

He screamed. He forced into it all the feelings he’d been attempting to ignore all week — helplessness, anger, guilt, loneliness, grief, hope.

The seeds of other feelings, ones he hadn’t felt in years — happiness, peace.

And something approaching, or at least adjacent to, an emotion he’d sworn he would never experience again.

Alistair screamed them all into Barkspawn’s fur until he had no more air to make the sound. And then he took a deep breath and screamed again. And again.

And again.

And when the pressure had eased enough that he was confident he wouldn’t explode, when his throat burned from the sheer volume of his pain, the rest of his emotions burst forth in heaving, uncontrollable sobs that wracked his body until he was empty.

Even then, his utter exhaustion, rather than an active choice, was the only reason he finally slipped into the Fade.

But even there he found no peace. Nightmares and warped memories and a deep, soothing voice haunted him until morning, when he awoke, head resting on Barkspawn like a pillow, more tired and grief-stricken than when he’d fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. None of this is new to Alistair, he has good and healthy coping mechanisms, and he has support, including a therapist and FRIENDS (the latter of which will be making an appearance in chapter 3). And, of course, Barkspawn. She is a very, very good girl.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I miiiiight have been using Alistair to process some things in the last chapter. But, having started that, this (rather long) chapter has Alistair *not* being fixed, but getting the support he needs to work through his stuff. So while not as bad as the last one, it still deals with stuff, but it ends on a happy and hopeful, if nervous, note!
> 
> And don't worry! The next (and final) chapter is the checkup appointment and will be full of cuteness and fluffiness! I promise!
> 
> TW: Short-lived bout of depression, heavily implied (but not explicit) past suicide ideation, PTSD, grief, survivor’s guilt, lots of crying. (much crying. such catharsis.)  
> But also: supportive friends (DAO crew!), a good therapist, healthy coping mechanisms, and a mabari’s unconditional love.

Alistair called in sick to work the next day.

He spent the morning on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and searching for patterns — a new exercise, since he usually did his blank staring in the bedroom. From the couch, the patterns shifted on him. First a broodmother standing against several small dots, then a large mabari wagging its tail, followed by lovers embracing, and of course _that_ was the one that stuck. His chest ached with an emptiness that he knew to be physically impossible; then again, his pain had never seemed to be restricted to the confines of reality before, so why start now?

When he got up to pee sometime in the early afternoon, he decided a change of scenery would be good, so he spent the rest of the day in his bed, staring up at that fucking archdemon facing off against the two lone dots.

Other than that, he rarely moved. Moving required energy, and energy required … well, _anything_ , and anything and everything and nothing all seemed to be far too much work. A few times he let Barkspawn outside or ate a granola bar she brought him, but otherwise he was not comfortable, exactly, but not uncomfortable enough to care.

At some point he must have fallen asleep again, or perhaps he’d been napping throughout the day. Time blurred together. But eventually he woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and Barkspawn nudging his face.

“What?” he mumbled.

She merely whined and nudged him again.

He sighed. “I know.”

And with enormous effort, he got out of bed. After that, it wasn’t much more effort to shuffle to the bathroom and brush his teeth, and the shower was right there, so he hopped in.

The hot water helped, and so did washing himself, and by the time he was finished and dressed, he’d made a non-ceiling-staring plan for the day.

The first thing he did was call his therapist. She couldn’t see him right away, but he made an appointment for a few days before Barkspawn’s scheduled checkup at the clinic.

When he hung up with her, he saw a new notification for his voicemail — one new message.

He listened to it, and it made his chest ache and tighten, his stomach sour and flutter. By the end, his head was in his hands and he went through several exercises to calm his breathing.

Maker, he needed to talk to Wynne, but since his appointment was barely closer than when he’d made it a several minutes ago, he needed something else.

Time to pull out the big guns in his mental health arsenal.

He sent a text to the group chat.

> _Alistair: Anyone free tonight? I need some company._

Barkspawn joined him on the couch, and he barely had time to put the phone down and scratch her between the ears when the damned thing exploded with dings.

He smiled, and in further evidence of his fragile emotional state, he also had to keep tears from falling.

Barkspawn nuzzled him as he looked at the messages.

> _Shale: not tonight, but i would be happy to pulverize u at the gym this afternoon_
> 
> _Sten: I just left you at the gym. We had finished._
> 
> _Shale: but I have not pulverized alistair in months_
> 
> _Leliana: I’m free!!!_
> 
> _Oghren: nope babysitting 2nite_
> 
> _Morrigan: If the child is yours, you’re not babysitting._
> 
> _Oghren: whadya want me to say? dadding 2nite?_
> 
> _Morrigan: A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed._
> 
> _Leliana: Is everything all right, Alistair?_
> 
> _Morrigan: As I am in Orlais studying history and not Harry Potter, I am not, in fact, able to teleport to Denerim for an evening._
> 
> _Oghren: a simple no would have sufficed_
> 
> _Zevran: for you, dear Alistair? I am always free._
> 
> _Morrigan: Do not test me, dwarf._
> 
> _Oghren: quick whats 983 x 37 witch?_

Alistair sighed. They’d all fought with him and Dom up until the end, and every single one of them supported him in some way after Dom was killed. He loved them all dearly.

But he didn’t always like them.

> _Alistair: Dude, come on._
> 
> _Leliana: Oghren!! We’ve talked about this!!_
> 
> _Shale: oghren stop_
> 
> _Sten: Oghren. Apologize._
> 
> _Zevran: ah, Oghren, you have been slipping in the absence of my tutelage._
> 
> _Oghren: fine sorry morrigan_

There was no response for a long time as everyone held their breaths for Morrigan’s response.

Alistair sighed. He’d only wanted to hang with one or a few of them tonight. Not Morrigan, obviously, since she was abroad (in Orlais, the traitor) and she only ever seemed to tolerate him at best. Sure, she’d been in the rotation for the first few weeks after Dom died, when they all ensured he wasn’t alone for a moment. But her method was always to let Alistair be, rather than distracting him with talk like Leliana or Zevran, or with training like Shale, Sten, or Oghren. (If he was honest, he’d appreciated the silence more often than not, but that wasn’t why she’d done it.)

But as much as he and Morrigan tolerated and nagged each other, Oghren was a sexist prick and totally out of line right now.

After several minutes of no responses, during which Alistair deflated completely and actually started looking for patterns in the ceiling again, his phone finally dinged.

> _Morrigan: Apologies, an undergrad actually attended my office hours, so I had to re-explain the assignment using only small words._
> 
> _Morrigan: Honestly, I didn’t even notice, since it didn’t begin with a B. You’re forgiven, Oghren, but only if you promise not to pass such boorish behavior on to your child._
> 
> _Morrigan: And this all serves as a distraction from Leliana’s question. IS everything all right, Alistair?_

Alistair rolled his eyes. Why did she always make it sound like everything was _his_ fault? He wasn’t the one who caused the distraction. But for everyone’s peace of mind, he responded.

> _Alistair: I’m fine. Yesterday was a bad day, and the last week has been rough. Could just use some company, that’s all._
> 
> _Leliana: Oh, Alistair, what happened?_
> 
> _Shale: anyone you need pulverized??_
> 
> _Sten: Is the mabari with you?_
> 
> _Oghren: ^^^_
> 
> _Zevran: what Sten said._

Alistair smirked at Barkspawn. “They’re asking about you, B. Well, mostly Sten. You remember Sten, don’t you?”

Barkspawn wagged her tail eagerly.

“Yeah, he’s the one who gave you cake and cookies.”

He knew why they were asking, though. Barkspawn’s presence was a kind euphemism for his mental state, and they asked about her for the same reason they didn’t leave him alone for the first few weeks.

> _Alistair: Barkspawn is with me. She remembers your cookies, Sten._

He hesitated then, unsure how much he wanted to share with everyone over text. After about a minute (and another text from Leliana), he decided to mention the surface stuff only.

> _Leliana: Alistair?_
> 
> _Alistair: She got an infection in her leg for no reason the vet could find so they put her on antibiotics and did some blood tests. She’s getting better but I only got the results that she’s fine a couple days ago. It’s been A Week._

A pause long enough for people to read, and then his phone blew up again.

> _Shale: meet for pulverizing at 2?_
> 
> _Leliana: See you at your place at 7? I’ll bring the wine!!_
> 
> _Oghren: them mabari are hardy as dwarves no need to worry Al_
> 
> _Morrigan: I am pleased to hear that she is recovering, if not to be reminded that you gave her that horrid name. Poor thing._
> 
> _Sten: I shall meet for the 2pm pulverizing. Bring the mabari. I will have cookies for her._
> 
> _Zevran: I agree to 7 at Alistair’s. I’ll bring the food. It will be Antivan, and I will embarrass myself to order Alistair the blandest meal possible._

Alistair let his head fall back against the couch, and the ceiling blurred. They were good people, all of them. Even Morrigan and Oghren (when he wasn’t being sexist).

Barkspawn sat up to lick his face, and he leaned into her, whispering, “I’m all right, sweetie.”

Then he wiped his face and responded.

> _Alistair: You’re all amazing and I love you._
> 
> _Shale: ugh, mushiness means quicker pulverizing_
> 
> _Zevran: ah, about time you admitted your love for me, mi amigo!_
> 
> _Oghren: gross_
> 
> _Leliana: We love you, too!!!_
> 
> _Sten: Will the pulverizing occur at 2 or not? I need to bake cookies._
> 
> _Alistair: See Lels and Zev here at 7 (I just don’t like hot stuff, ZEV) and I’ll be at the gym at 2._
> 
> _Zevran: you have despicable taste and you deserve to be pulverized_
> 
> _Sten: Bring the mabari. I am making cookies for us to eat while you lose._
> 
> _Oghren: take him out shale_
> 
> _Leliana: Don’t go too hard on him, Shale!!_
> 
> _Alistair: Why is everyone so convinced *Shale* will be doing the pulverizing?_

His phone was bombarded by a series of various laugh emojis and GIFs from every one of them, and Morrigan even piped in with a Maker-damned meme and the message, _One of my students sent me this and it made me think of Alistair._

Even more laugh emojis and Alistair rolled his eyes.

> _Alistair: You’re all terrible and I hate you._

He followed his message with a middle finger emoji, turned his phone on silent to ignore the laughing responses, and packed his gym bag with clothes fit for a pulverizing.

* * *

The doorbell rang at seven on the dot. Alistair finished toweling his hair, hung the towel around his neck, and answered the door.

Leliana, carrying four bottles of wine, pushed right past him and into the house.

“Hi, Lels,” Alistair said to the empty space across the threshold where a polite person would have waited. “Great to see you. Please, come on in.”

“Where’s your bottle opener?” she called from the kitchen.

He rolled his eyes as he closed the door and followed her.

“Never mind, I found it!”

“Make yourself at home,” Alistair said to her while she opened two of the four bottles.

Barkspawn had already skittered into the kitchen and was wagging her tail excitedly, her back feet planted, bouncing gently on her front feet.

“Don’t think I forgot you, sweetheart!” Leliana crouched and wrapped Barkspawn in an enormous hug before pulling a quart-size bag of treats from her coat pocket.

“She already had a dozen of Sten’s cookies this afternoon,” Alistair said. “And is supposed to be _taking it easy_ , right, B?”

Barkspawn responded by sitting, back straight, and waiting patiently for Leliana to hold out a handful of treats.

“But your leg’s hurt,” Leliana cooed. “You deserve to be spoiled, my darling.” She poured the rest of the bag into Barkspawn’s food bowl.

And Alistair watched helplessly as Barkspawn dug into the mabari equivalent of an entire tub of Ben and Jerry’s.

“If you get sick, don’t come whining to me,” he grumbled, tossing his towel onto a chair and taking the glass of wine Leliana handed him.

“So how was the pulverizing?” Leliana asked as she clinked her glass against his and took a swig.

Alistair grinned. “Great. Shale always comes through.”

Of course, he hadn’t been truly pulverized. As much as they all liked to tease him, Alistair was no shrinking violet. Although he was pretty sure Shale had gone easier on him than promised, he’d held his own. Then Sten tagged in from where he and Barkspawn had been munching cookies from the sidelines. Shale and Sten swapped in and out until Alistair was a sweating pile of limbs in the middle of the ring, and Barkspawn had received her fill of Sten cookies.

There was a reason he’d agreed to meet them at the gym earlier, and that reason was his current physical and mental state. In the depths of his lowest moments, it was so easy to forget the thrill of endorphins from simply raising his heart rate. He was immensely grateful to have friends willing to remind him by trying to beat the shit out of him.

There was a reason he called them all his big guns.

“You look invigorated.” Leliana’s smile softened. “How bad was yesterday really?”

Barkspawn whined, leaving what remained of her treats to bump her head into his hand.

“Alistair.” Leliana touched his shoulder, a note of concern in her voice. “Were you —”

“No,” he hurried to reassure her.

Maker, he loved that they’d all been there for him during those horribly surreal first few weeks, but he’d improved so much since they’d all gone their separate ways six years ago. Sometimes he wished they would forget that horrific time — he certainly wished _he_ could — and realize that they didn’t need to treat him with kid gloves anymore.

“I was horizontal for the whole day,” Alistair explained. “First on the couch, then in bed. Got up to pee a few times. Only ate a couple granola bars B brought me. I just couldn’t do … anything.” He looked away. “I don’t remember the last time it was that bad.”

Leliana pulled a second bag of treats from some other pocket — what the fuck? — and handed Barkspawn a few. “Good girl.”

Then, to his surprise — although he should have expected it — Leliana threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

“Thank the Maker,” she whispered in his ear, one hand cradling his head. “I worry about you.”

He chuckled, but returned her embrace, burying his face in her neck. Maker, he a how touch-starved he always ended up until his friends hugged him and he didn’t want them to let go.

“I know, but it’s been years, Lels. I’m so much better now.” He sighed. “Even my worst days are never that bad anymore.”

“I cannot believe you would begin without me.”

Both Alistair and Leliana jumped at the voice, and Alistair turned around to find Zevran not a foot behind him, holding enough bags of Antivan food to feed half a dozen people.

“Fuck, Zev!” Alistair clutched his chest over his pounding heart and slumped against the counter. “Can’t you knock like a normal person?”

“And miss that hilarious look on your face, _mi amigo_? Never.”

Leliana poured Zevran a glass of wine and began to pull out plates and silverware, and Alistair helped him unpack the food.

“This one is yours, you Fereldan savage,” Zevran said, placing a large container in front of Alistair. “And this slightly spicier one is for your lovely companion.”

Barkspawn left her still unfinished pile of treats and trotted to Zevran, who scratched her head and opened the container for her.

Alistair sat heavily at the table. “No wonder you like seeing everyone, B. They spoil you rotten.”

Zevran sat, as well, and took the fork and wine glass Leliana handed him. “If she has been injured, she deserves it.”

“That’s what I said!”

Alistair rolled his eyes, but raised his glass when the others did.

“To the brave and beautiful Barkspawn,” said Zevran. “May she always be spoiled!”

Alistair shook his head and, with a resigned sigh, clinked his glass against those of his friends.

“So,” Leliana said, unfolding her paper napkin and daintily placing it on her lap. “Would you like Talk over dinner, or No Talk?”

That was a relic from their time together during the Blight. They had all seen some horrific things, and they’d been advised in training to be open and talk about what occurred so emotions wouldn’t fester. So they’d created a sort of code to check in with each other.

Talk or No Talk was their way of giving each other space but acknowledging the eventual need to discuss what happened. Sometimes people weren’t ready to talk and just wanted to be distracted. An answer of No Talk was respected, with the expectation that Talk would occur eventually in each person’s own time.

Once more a surge of warmth coursed through him at how well his friends knew him and what he needed.

Big guns, indeed.

“No Talk,” he said.

And so they spent dinner talking about everything _but_ the reason Alistair had asked them over, sharing funny stories and joking and providing him with a perfect distraction and room to ease into the difficult conversations to come.

* * *

When they’d all finished dinner — including Barkspawn, who curled into a ball at Alistair’s feet for a post-feast nap — and the table had been cleared, dishes done, trash thrown away, leftovers in the fridge, Leliana opened wine bottle number three, poured them each an overfull glass, and sat down.

“Now,” she said, when they’d all settled — Alistair on one side of the small table, Leliana next to him at the head, and Zevran across from him. “Talk. What’s going on?”

Alistair took a big swig; he was already several glasses in, but alcohol always helped him let down his guard, and he needed it to talk about this.

He rubbed his stockinged feet along Barkspawn’s belly and spoke to his wine glass.

“One day she seemed completely healthy, and the next day her leg was swollen to almost twice its normal size and she couldn’t move without limping. I called the vet and got her in as soon as possible.”

“Did you not say she is responding to antibiotics?” said Zevran softly. “And that the test results came back negative for anything else?”

Alistair nodded. “Day before yesterday.”

“But it is still upsetting you, yes?”

“Not exactly.” At their raised eyebrows, Alistair added, “I mean, it did at first, but she’s healing up great.” In fact, if he was honest, he felt guilty for not being more worried for Barkspawn. “It’s … it’s actually the vet.”

“Dr. Dennet?” asked Leliana. “But I thought you liked him.”

“No — I mean, yes, but we didn’t see him. We saw this new guy. Dr. Cullen Rutherford.”

“What did he do?” Leliana’s tone darkened as she swiftly transitioned to her _I will cut a bitch_ mode. She could, too. Alistair had seen it enough during the Blight to be afraid of her, but right now he felt a fond warmth in his chest.

“Nothing,” he nevertheless hurried to explain before Dr. Rutherford suddenly found a knife in his back. “He’s been great with her. Like, really great. Got her to take her pain pills without being forced. He understands our bond when even Dr. Dennet didn’t because he’s from Bumfuck Nowhere, Ferelden and has dealt with a lot of mabari before.”

After a moment, Zevran said gently, “None of these sound like problems, _mi amigo_.”

“No,” added Leliana. “He sounds amazing.”

“ _That’s_ the problem,” Alistair murmured.

Leliana and Zevran both frowned. Exchanged a glance, each raising an eyebrow. Their eyes slowly widened.

Wait for it …

And then they both suddenly whipped out their phones and started typing furiously.

“Rutherford, you said his name was?” asked Zevran.

“I’ve got it,” said Leliana. She had always been a whiz when it came to finding information. “Oh, Zev,” she said, excitedly tapping his arm. “Look! Look at him!”

Zevran tossed his phone aside, conceding once again to Leliana’s superior Google-fu, and looked at the screen she’d turned toward him.

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “This delicious man is your new vet?”

He turned Leliana’s phone so Alistair could see the screen. On it was an enlarged photo of Dr. Rutherford, holding a puppy — Alistair’s heart clenched upon wondering if it was the one he’d lost last week — smiling that sweet, shy smile, and wearing those adorable, Maker-damned glasses.

Alistair felt his cheeks heat and buried his head in his arms. “Yes!”

“Oh, Alistair, this is wonderful!” Leliana squeezed one of his arms in excitement.

“But you see the issue, do you not, my dear?” Once again, Zevran’s voice was gentle and soft.

“Yes, but —”

Leliana’s phone began to ring, cutting her off. She answered it, and Alistair lifted his head to exchange a _What the fuck?_ glance with Zevran.

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t make it,” Leliana into the phone. “Google ‘Cullen Rutherford veterinarian’ right now.”

“My adviser meeting ran later than expected,” came Morrigan’s voice, and Alistair’s stomach soured. “Why am I Googling this person?”

Leliana set up her phone on her case’s built-in stand so that they could all see Morrigan’s face. On a video call.

“What the —” Alistair sputtered, face burning. “Why is she — why are you here?” Morrigan was the absolute last person he wanted to talk to about his feelings.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, though they remained focused on something other than the camera. “Believe it or not, I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Alistair scoffed. “You don’t even like me!”

“Alistair,” Leliana said, her tone slightly scolding.

Morrigan, for her part, clenched her jaw and frowned slightly before her face returned to its smooth indifference, and she looked directly into the camera.

“I am … sorry that you believe so. While we are not bosom friends, I have never disliked you, Alistair. But I do not make friends easily, and I have come to realize in the years since the Blight that you all are the truest ones I’ve ever had. And likely ever will.” Her voice wavered at the end. “So when one of you asks for help, I do whatever I can.”

Blinking back tears, Alistair focused intently on his wine glass. “Oh,” was all he could say.

Morrigan cleared her throat. “Not to mention that I grew quite fond of Bea during our time together. Is she there?”

Alistair rolled his eyes — he could always tell when she called Barkspawn _Bea_ , like it was short for a longer name and not the first initial of a name she despised. But he stroked _B_ with his foot and, though he knew everyone truly loved her, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was acting as a middle-mabari euphemism yet again.

She’d been playing that part a lot lately.

“She’s napping at my feet after all the crap she’s eaten today,” he said with a smirk. “First Sten’s cookies, then several bags of treats from Leliana before her Antivan dinner that Zev so thoughtfully brought her.”

“Spicier than yours, I assume?” Morrigan’s eyes glinted with a humor that was unfamiliar in its orneriness, as it had always been more mean-spirited. Or perhaps he simply hadn’t cared to look deeper.

“An utter travesty,” Zevran said dramatically. “But alas, none of us is perfect, and at least our Alistair has a wonderful personality.”

Alistair kicked him under the table, but Zevran merely grinned.

“Ah, I see,” Morrigan said, her humor evaporating and leaving behind her usual no-nonsense, businesslike demeanor. “Alistair is attracted to this Dr. Rutherford.”

“What?” Alistair exclaimed, his cheeks suddenly aflame. “How did — Did you —” He turned to Leliana accusingly.

“Please.” Morrigan rolled her eyes before Leliana could respond. “My time abroad has not reduced my intellect, nor your predictability. You explained over text that yesterday was a bad day, but also that Bea is recovering well. You are not nor have you ever been one to suffer delayed emotional reactions, as you are utterly unable to hide intense emotions.”

“Hey,” he protested.

“I am not rendering judgment, merely stating what I know to be true,” said Morrigan. “Thus, your current mental state must be due to something else. Leliana ordered me to Google this Cullen Rutherford without context, but said Google search returns his employment at Denerim Veterinary Clinic which, given current events, you have likely recently visited. It is a safe assumption that this man is the source of your difficulties.”

“Fine,” Alistair grumbled. “But how do you know I don’t hate his guts?”

The smirk Leliana and Zevran exchanged did not escape his notice or improve his mood.

“While an option, the only reason you might dislike him would be that he was unkind to you or Bea,” said Morrigan, eminently (and infuriatingly) reasonable. “Unkindness aimed at you is easily brushed aside, while unkindness toward Bea is far more likely to have resulted in a call to request bail money rather than a text for company and support.”

That he couldn’t deny. Nobody fucked with Barkspawn in his presence.

“And in fact,” Morrigan still continued, “there is only one topic that triggers such severe emotional and mental stress in you, and the resurfacing of that particular topic now, alongside a pretty veterinarian who successfully diagnosed and treated Bea’s injury, tells me that you are feeling attraction toward this Dr. Rutherford.”

“Ah, it’s elementary, my dear Alistair!” Zevran concluded, an infuriating and punchable grin on his face.

Alistair bit his tongue. Just because Morrigan was right didn’t mean he had to admit it aloud.

“Do not sulk, Alistair. ‘Tis unbecoming,” said Morrigan, and _Maker_ he hated when she talked all old-fashioned like that. It was so pretentious. “Did you pout when they explained how they knew?”

She only nodded toward Leliana and Zevran, but Alistair felt it like a slap in the face.

“You knew?” he asked, eyes wide.

And he buried his face in his arms again, utterly mortified.

Perhaps in an effort to head off the argument, or to stop Alistair deciding he didn’t want to do this anymore, someone — Leliana, as she was closest to him — refilled his wine glass. “Drink,” she ordered.

He lifted his head, studiously avoiding eye contact with all three of them, and did. Maker, he needed it after being so unceremoniously and publicly dissected, and apparently not just by Morrigan.

“So you guys just talk about my love life behind my back?” he grumbled.

Zevran smiled but not unkindly. “My dear Alistair, if you think we all haven’t discussed your love life every several months or so since the first anniversary, then you truly do not know us.”

He almost did a spit-take. “Since — After a _year_?”

How could they think he was so — that he would just — they hadn’t been a fling, they’d been _in love_ , but somehow everyone thought —

“Alistair.” Leliana laid her hand on one of his arms, taking his glass away while Zevran used paper towels to wipe up the wine he’d apparently sloshed all over the table and himself. “We know you were both deeply in love” — and _fuck_ , had he said those things out loud? — “and none of us would ever dream of thinking otherwise. We have only ever wanted you to find happiness, and that was the lens through which we discussed you.”

Alistair took the paper towel Zevran handed him and wiped at his hands. While he dabbed unsuccessfully at his shirt, Barkspawn stood and emerged from under the table, whining and resting her head on his knee.

He focused on his breathing and scratched her head. After a few moments, he had already calmed, and though his hand still shook slightly, he was able to take the refilled glass Leliana handed him and drain half of it without spilling again.

“Please,” Leliana said, rubbing his back. “Tell us what happened with this Dr. Rutherford, hmm? And what it is that has you so worked up.”

Alistair glanced down at Barkspawn, sighed, and said, “You’re going to think he’s weird.”

“I’m certain we won’t,” said Leliana. “Tell us about him.”

Alistair doubted it, but he had nothing else to lose at this point. “Well, he’s never actually spoken to _me_. Not directly. Always to Barkspawn, in the appointment and even over the phone.”

“Oh.” Leliana, Andraste bless her, spoke that one word softly and said nothing else.

Zevran nodded slowly, his face carefully blank.

“That _is_ weird.”

“Morrigan,” Leliana hissed.

In the small screen of Leliana’s phone, Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Why must everyone persist in this societal belief that ‘weird’ is inherently bad? Are we not all weird in our own ways? I dare a one among us argue otherwise. I will proudly say I am weird. Alistair is certainly weird. And so was Dom.”

Alistair braced for impact at the name — until this moment, no one had spoken it aloud — but he surprised himself with his lack of reaction.

He was conscious of everyone holding their breath, waiting to see his response, but all he did was laugh.

“He really was,” Alistair said, and his smile was only a little sad. “Did you know he never folded his socks together in pairs? He split up the left and right socks and kept them on opposite sides of his pack and would grab one from each side when he needed new ones.”

After a pause, Leliana said, “Really?”

“You see?” Morrigan waved her hand in Alistair’s direction. “That is incredibly weird!”

“Yes.” Alistair had not removed his hand from Barkspawn, who sat patiently at his side, head still on his thigh. “It is.”

And with that simple admission, he told them everything — the appointment, Dr. Rutherford’s odd style, how he understood his and Barkspawn’s relationship, how he’d somehow gotten Barkspawn to rest and take her pills.

He explained how he’d stressed about Barkspawn’s leg until he saw improvement, and how he stressed over not hearing about the test results until two nights ago.

Then he told them about the phone call, and how, in spite of the odd conceit of speaking through Barkspawn, they’d shared in each other’s pain. How Alistair had spoken about losing people during the Blight, and Dr. Rutherford had told them he would eventually be taking over the practice. How Alistair had somehow felt comfortable letting his guard down, and listening to Dr. Rutherford’s soothing voice, and talking openly about his complex relationship with Barkspawn without fear of being judged. How they’d joked and laughed a few times.

Zevran spoke first. “You enjoyed speaking with him, yes?”

Alistair surprised himself when he smiled fondly, and even more when his stomach did a flip.

“Then what went wrong, _mi amigo_?”

After everything they’d shared, Dr. Rutherford had gone back to talking to Barkspawn.

“And why —”

Alistair gripped a chunk of Barkspawn’s fur in a fist. “It was like — Dom used to talk to her like that.”

Leliana’s hand rested on his arm once again. “And you like when Dr. Rutherford does.”

Alistair clenched his eyes shut to hold back his tears. “But I can’t.”

Barkspawn whined.

“Yes, Alistair,” Leliana said gently. “You can.”

“No.” Alistair shook his head, and his tears finally escaped to roll down his cheeks. “It’s not fair to Dom.”

“Alistair.” Morrigan’s voice was hard. “Dom is gone. And he is never coming back.”

“Morrigan!” Leliana gasped.

But the pain that surged through Alistair at Morrigan’s cold, cruel statement of fact sparked on the dormant, repressed fury deep inside him.

His vision tunneled as he jumped to his feet, chair crashing to the floor behind him. “You think I don’t fucking know that?” he screamed. “You think I don’t think about him every single fucking day? It was supposed to be _me_! _I_ was the Senior Warden, we agreed that _I_ was supposed to go down killing that fucking thing! And then just — he just —”

As quickly as his rage had ignited, it burned itself out. When his vision cleared, both Leliana and Zevran stood in defensive positions while Barkspawn barked and jumped up to place two paws on his chest.

With nothing left to fuel him, his legs buckled, and the dam holding everything back crumbled to rubble as he sank to the floor, arm around Barkspawn.

“It was supposed to be me,” he sobbed into her fur. “It’s not fair that I get a second chance and he doesn’t. I can’t … I just _can’t_ …”

And then he was surrounded, enveloped in the arms of his friends, rocked and hushed like a child, and he felt loved and embarrassed and annoyed and guilty and happy and lonely, all at once.

He didn’t know how long Zev and Lels held him like that, his painful, swollen heart slowly draining like Barkspawn’s infected leg. Eventually, he collapsed against his always loyal girl, completely spent, sapped of tears and voice and emotion, unable to do anything but sit on the floor and stare at nothing. His breaths echoed inside the empty husk of his chest.

“Alistair.” Morrigan’s voice was soft now, so unlike the last time she’d spoken.

Leliana kissed Alistair on the head and stood, retrieving her phone from atop the table. “We will talk later about this, but that was so far out of line —”

Alistair held up his hand for the phone. “Lemme talk to her.”

His voice was hoarse but firm, and Leliana, though hesitant, did as he asked.

To her credit, Morrigan frowned deeply when she saw Alistair’s face, and he didn’t blame her; he probably looked like shit.

“You did that on purpose,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She tipped her head toward him. “I thought that you might need an outlet other than being pulverized by Shale. Do you feel better?”

He huffed out a laugh-adjacent sigh. “Define ‘better.’ I’m exhausted. Lighter, I guess. But ‘better’ is definitely a stretch.”

Barkspawn curled into a ball, and he adjusted his position so that he sat cross-legged. She rested her head on his knee, while Zevran sat leaning into his left side and Leliana knelt behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest. He leaned his head back into her, and she kissed his forehead.

There was a reason he called them the big guns.

“Lighter is good,” Leliana said gently. “Although maybe we should have discussed ahead of time how to —”

“No,” said Morrigan. “You coddle him, Leliana. He has greatly improved in the past several years, and we would all do well to remember that he is no longer so fragile.”

Alistair managed a shaky smile at that. Of all his friends, Morrigan was the last one he’d expected to understand that.

“That much is clear,” said Zevran, brushing his fingers through Alistair’s hair; Alistair let out a small moan and leaned back into them, made easier when Leliana shifted to his right side and leaned her head on his shoulder. “But alas, dear Alistair, the brave Domnall would never wish for you to be so miserable.”

Eyes closed and greatly enjoying the scalp massage, Alistair murmured, “I know.”

Maker, he was grateful that his friends were so generous with platonic touch. He was so starved for any sort of affection.

“And do not tell me,” Zevran whispered in his ear, “that you do not wish these fingers belonged to your handsome vet instead.”

Or perhaps not so platonic. Alistair opened his eyes enough to glare at Zevran, who grinned right back at him.

“Ah, but you do not deny it.”

Alistair sat up straight then, to giggles from both Zevran and Leliana.

“This Dr. Rutherford,” said Leliana. “He is kind, no?”

Alistair nodded, his hand not holding Leliana’s phone scratching Barkspawn between the ears.

“He listens?” Leliana asked.

“And he laughs at your ridiculous jokes?” added Zev.

“Yeah.” Alistair met Barkspawn’s gaze.

“And Bea approves of him?” asked Morrigan.

Barkspawn let out a bark, and Alistair smiled. “That’s a definite yes.”

“Alistair.” Morrigan spoke so gently he probably wouldn’t have recognized her voice if he hadn’t seen her lips move. “Dom absolutely adored you.”

Alistair blinked back tears. Maker’s breath, he had. The asshole had loved him so much that he’d died for him.

The _fucker_.

“Dom was also my dearest friend in the world,” said Morrigan. “And I would consider myself remiss in my duties if I did not do what I could to ensure your well-being. Right now, that means telling you that he would want you to find happiness where you can. Even — perhaps especially — if that meant getting to better know this odd, attractive veterinarian who talks to animals like they’re people and gets Bea to take her medicine.”

Alistair took a deep breath and nodded. She was right, as much as it pained him to admit (in more ways than one).

Then he sucked in a gasp that was also kind of a sob. “Hang on, I forgot to tell you.”

He shoved Morrigan into Leliana’s hands and dug in his pockets for own phone.

“I, uh — I didn’t see this until this morning, but I missed a call yesterday.” He found his phone, navigated to his voicemail, and pulled up the message. “While I was … you know.”

He put his phone on speaker and pressed play.

_“Hello — hi. This is Dr. Ruther — Dr. Cullen Ruth — Cullen. It’s Cullen. I’m calling to check —”_ A heavy sigh. _“I’m calling to see how things are … how you are. Our call ended rather abruptly last night, and I suppose I — I’m calling to make sure everything is all right. I appreciated the talk, and I hope I didn’t say anything to — that is —”_ Another sigh, frustrated this time. _“You don’t owe me an explanation or anything, but if you could just let me know that you’re all right. You can call or, or text me at this number, or leave a message at the office if it’s easier. I just —”_ His tone gentled, his voice softened. _“I hope you’re okay.”_ He cleared his throat, and his tone returned to his normal, professional one. _“Anyway, I look forward to seeing you later this week. Tell — tell Barkspawn I say hi.”_

Leliana’s non-Morrigan hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Alistair …”

Alistair nodded. He’d forced the voicemail from his mind as soon as he’d heard it this morning, unequipped as he was to deal with anything. But Dr. Rutherford — _Cullen_ had called to make sure he was okay.

Him. Not Barkspawn.

“You returned his call immediately, of course.” Occasionally, Zevran would ask a question he knew the answer to by imbuing a statement with a mix of hopefulness and disappointment that always made Alistair’s Chantry guilt reflexes flare up like Andraste’s pyre.

He grimaced. “I’ll call the office tomorrow and leave a message.”

“Or you could text him right now,” Leliana coaxed. “You have his number in your phone.”

Alistair shook his head. “No, he might text back, and then — I’m not ready for that.”

“In spite of what we have been saying all evening,” Morrigan said from Leliana’s hand. “If you aren’t ready for any of this, that’s all right.”

“What? You’ve been telling me —”

“That there is nothing wrong with having feelings,” said Leliana. “Or wanting to move things forward.”

“But do not force yourself to do something if it makes you uncomfortable,” finished Zevran.

Alistair sighed. No matter what, he would be uncomfortable. The entire idea of being interested in someone that wasn’t Dom was utterly terrifying.

“I don’t know what I want.”

“And that’s all right, too.” Leliana wrapped him in a hug and kissed him on the temple. “You have time before you see him. Just know that Dom would never begrudge you someone who makes you happy.”

Alistair looked down at Barkspawn, who licked his hand. “I’ll think about it. But I can’t promise anything.”

In a strange turn of events, all five of them were silent for several moments.

“Well,” said Zevran, slapping his thigh. “Enough sadness for tonight. Let us drink to our friend Dom, yes?”

And so they spent the rest of the evening telling stories and toasting (Morrigan with her own bottle of wine) Dom Cousland.

With every drink, Alistair imagined what Dom would say if he could see them.

By the end of the night, when he finally stumbled into bed, he drifted into the Fade to Dom’s happiest smile and Cullen’s deep, soothing voice.

And the next morning, the first thing he did was call the clinic and leave a message for Dr. Rutherford that “Barkspawn” was doing well and they would see him at their appointment at the end of the week.

* * *

Alistair took a deep breath, sighed, and finally left his car after sitting in his own driveway for … Maker, almost fifteen minutes after arriving home.

Wynne, as was her wont, had given him more to think about than he’d anticipated.

In the time since that day of pulverizing followed by the night of dinner and drinks and emotional dramatics with his friends, he hadn’t just felt lighter. He felt _better_.

Nervous as the Void, Maker help him, and definitely still unsure about how ready he was to pursue a relationship with someone who wasn’t Dom, but Barkspawn’s upcoming appointment excited him. Several times, he actually had to stop himself from calling or texting Cullen just because; the last thing he wanted to do was start something he might eventually chicken out on.

And for a few wild moments during the week, he even considered canceling his appointment with Wynne. But given that day-long depression he’d struggled to climb out of, he eventually decided that he should at least let her know what had happened, if only so he could brag about how he utilized his support system and coping mechanisms to help himself. She’d be so proud of him for basically fixing himself, and maybe she’d decide he was completely cured. (Of course he knew it didn’t work that way, he would likely struggle with anxiety and depression his entire life, blah blah. But he could dream, couldn’t he?)

He was right about some of those things. And very, very wrong about others.

Wynne was a wonderful listener, and his chest puffed with pride when she told him he’d handled his crisis well. While the emotions he felt were not a sign of weakness, she assured him, releasing them in healthy ways — including crying — and asking for the help he needed were signs of strength. She cautioned him, as usual, against leaning too much on his friends, but acknowledged that their advice was solid — there was nothing wrong with finding happiness in someone else, that didn’t mean he loved Dom any less, he wasn’t betraying anyone, and if he wasn’t ready, that was okay, too. The mere fact that he was feeling these things about someone was a good sign that he was healing from his grief and trauma.

But just when he was getting comfortable, thinking that maybe he was ready to graduate from therapy forever (haha), she’d asked a simple question that knocked him flat.

Alistair tensed again just thinking about it as he walked up the drive.

_“I’d like to go back to something you mentioned earlier,” she said. “About your relationship with Barkspawn.”_

He needed several tries to slide the key into the lock on his front door and once he succeeded, he paused to calm and center himself. Deep breaths.

_“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he snapped, surprising even himself._

_Wynne frowned. “I should hope you know me well enough by now that I would never criticize your feelings for her. I think she is a darling creature, and she has helped you in ways I never could.”_

_“Then what?” Again, his tone was curt. Rude._

When Alistair finally opened the door, Barkspawn bounded up to him, tail wagging and tongue lolling, excited to see him as always.

_“We’ve often discussed your negative feelings toward Dom — anger, rejection, betrayal.”_

He knelt to embrace her. “Hello, my sweet girl. Did you miss me?”

_“Have you ever felt any of those emotions toward Barkspawn?”_

Alistair buried his face in Barkspawn’s shoulder. “Can we talk?”

She pulled away and tilted her head in question.

He shrugged. “You know how I get when I see Wynne,” he said with a weak smile.

Barkspawn nudged his face, eyes narrowed dubiously, before relenting. She trotted across the room, hopped up into her spot on the couch, and sat up straight, ready to listen.

Alistair tried not to snort at the irony. He sat in his usual spot, too, but couldn’t look at her.

“Right. So, we were talking about what exactly triggered my episode this week, and it was when I was talking to Cullen — Dr. Rutherford.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her tilt her head again just slightly, but otherwise she listened intently.

“It wasn’t when I talked about losing people. It was when he ordered you not to tell anyone about him taking over the clinic, even if I told you different, and you agreed. Enthusiastically.”

Now she laid a paw on his thigh.

She was too damned smart for her own good, sometimes.

“And it was just like …” He sniffed. “When Dom …”

He buried his face in his hands, and she whined.

“Why did you do it, B? Why wouldn’t you let me —”

And for the fourth time in a single week — and the second time today, after discussing this at his appointment with Wynne — he broke.

Maker, if this was strength, why did he always feel so weak?

“And you never listen to me when I tell you to take meds or be careful, but _Dr. Rutherford_ does it …”

She whined, but other than her paw on his thigh didn’t make any further moves toward him.

Somehow that hurt more than anything else.

“Did I do something wrong?” he cried, turning toward her. “Am I not good enough? Do you not —”

That was when she moved.

Shoved him, in fact. Into the arm of the couch, which hit awkwardly in the middle of his back.

Paws on his chest, head even with his, two-hundred-plus pounds of mabari looming over him …

Maker’s balls, if this was what bad guys saw before they died, he almost felt bad for them.

And then she pressed her forehead to his, whined, and licked his face.

“Then why?” His tears overflowed to replace the ones she licked away. “Why did you listen to him and not me?”

She whined again and flopped on top of him — _oof_ , Maker, all two-hundred-plus pounds of her — and nuzzled into his neck.

“ _Air_ ,” he gasped.

And in perfect synchronization, as if they’d done it a million times before (though they never had), they both shifted, Alistair toward the back of the couch and Barkspawn toward the front, so that she was leaning into him but not on top of his chest and severely restricting his ability to breathe.

Once thus adjusted, she nuzzled into his neck again, not unlike she had when she was a puppy — or when injured last week.

It was the purest, most straightforward way she knew how to say, _I love you_.

Maybe he’d been wrong all this time. Maybe she _hadn’t_ listened to Dom.

Maybe — maybe she’d just ignored him because his order had been stupid. And Dom just happened to suggest she do the same thing.

Maker’s fucking breath. She _was_ too damned smart for her own good.

He let out a sob and nuzzled her back.

“If it had been me instead of Dom, would you have followed me?”

Her tail whapped a few times. He blinked back more tears.

“Then what about Dr. Rutherford?”

She whined and nuzzled his neck again.

“I don’t get it. I mean, sure, he’s hot, but I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing …”

She snorted, spraying doggy snot into his face.

“Oh, _yuck_ , come on!” He wiped the nastiness away with his free arm. “You’ve been following his directions to the letter. Telling me when you’re hurting, taking your pills without complaint, letting me wash with that nasty-smelling soap, not even so much as sniffing at the incision. Why?”

And again, she nuzzled into his neck. He sighed and let her, wrapping his arms around her.

He tried to put himself in her collar.

Dr. Rutherford was a nice guy who spoke to her like Alistair did. He called her a good girl and a war hero, told her she didn’t have to be so tough, explained the medicines and what they did and why they were important and …

And he kept talking about how she’d worried Alistair.

_“Anything short of losing a limb isn’t worth worrying Dad over, right?”_

_“Let Dad know you’re okay. You scared him.”_

_“Be a brave girl and tell Dad it’ll only be for a bit.”_

_“Don’t act all tough for Dad, okay?”_

_“You’ve worried Dad.”_

_“You’re his just as much as he is yours.”_

Oh, Maker. He was going to cry again.

“Hey, B?”

She raised her head to look at him.

“Did you listen to Dr. Rutherford …” His voice gave out, so he cleared his throat. “For me?”

She bumped heads with him.

His vision blurred as he buried his face in her fur for maybe the hundredth time this week. “Maker’s breath, I don’t deserve you.”

She growled at that, and he laughed.

“Okay, okay, I do deserve you,. We deserve each other. I see you, you big ol’ softie, pretending to be a grizzled old Warden when you’re really just a sweet little puppy inside.”

Another growl, but this one was more like a teenager’s petulant but resigned eye roll.

“It’s okay. I’m a big ol’ softie, too.”

He snuggled with her on the couch for a while, turning until they were basically spooning.

“So where do you stand on the matter of asking Dr. Rutherford out to dinner?”

She whapped her tail several times.

“I like him.”

Harder, more frequent tail whaps.

“But I’m scared,” he whispered.

She wiggled a bit, rearranging until she could see him once again and lick his cheek.

“Yeah. I know.”

They lay there for a while, Alistair thinking and Barkspawn — eh, maybe also thinking, or dozing, or whatever dogs did when they were being lazy with their person.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, how completely stir crazy are you feeling right now?”

The most vigorous tail wags yet. Her entire butt was waggling back and forth.

“What would you say to a run?”

At that, she jumped to the floor and stared at him like she did whenever _he_ was doing something he shouldn’t do.

“I know, but hang on.” Alistair pulled out his phone. “Smile real big for me, B.”

She did, and he snapped a quick picture.

Then he pulled up his text app and sent the photo, along with a message.

> _Alistair: I’m feeling so much better and my leg looks great! Could I go for a short run with Dad, Dr. Rutherford? Pleeeeease??_

He read the text to Barkspawn, who wagged her tail in eager approval — though in favor of the text itself or the idea of a run, Alistair couldn’t be sure. After a minute or so of grinning at the picture — she’d always been incredibly photogenic — he set it to his lock screen.

He was just showing Barkspawn her new place of honor when his phone dinged.

> _Dr. Cullen: I’ll allow it on two conditions. 1) It’s more of a jog than a run. 2) If you feel ANY discomfort, you STOP and tell Dad immediately._

Alistair grinned. “He said you can go! But on two conditions.”

He didn’t get the chance to read said conditions to Barkspawn before a second text came in.

> _Dr. Cullen: And I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better :)_

Alistair’s stomach clenched, and he had to take a few deep breaths to settle himself before deciding that a run would do him some good, too.

“All right, let’s go,” he said, heading for the door.

But Barkspawn was no dummy. She stayed in place, head tilted.

“Two conditions,” Alistair explained, stepping into his running shoes. “We take it easy and you stop and let me know if anything feels weird.” When she still didn’t move, he sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know if I can do this, B.”

She stood and trotted over to him, bumping his legs with her body.

“I know.” He bumped her back. “Let’s get some air and stretch those legs, huh?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realization, a last-minute pep talk, The Appointment, and a conversation.
> 
> TW: anxiety attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ran long, so there will be a chapter 5. BUT: there is a conversation! With a little bit of fluff.

_They lay together in Dom's tent, bodies intertwined. Alistair was wide awake, staring into the darkness and worrying._

_“Thinking about tomorrow?” Dom asked, his voice a shout in the oppressive silence._

_Alistair smirked. “Actually, I was thinking about my favorite types of cheese.”_

_Dom turned Alistair's_ _face toward him, and there was just enough light to see expressions. Dom’s, as usual, was unreadable, but he stroked Alistair’s cheek with his thumb, and Alistair let his eyes fall closed at the rush of warmth that filled him._

_“No matter what happens,” Dom whispered, “I love you.”_

_Alistair nodded, barely managing to keep any potential tears (and fears) from escaping. “I know. I love you, too.”_

_Dom rested their foreheads together, and Alistair opened his eyes to see Dom's bright blue ones, wide and glassy and vulnerable. “You are the only thing that has made any of this bearable. I can’t imagine how awful things might have been if I hadn’t had you by my side the whole time.”_

_“For starters, you would have had to deal with Morrigan all on your own, and wouldn’t that have been a nightmare?”_

_Dom sighed and shook his head. “I mean it. I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve saved my life. And you are …” His eyes roamed Alistair’s face. “Maker’s breath, you’re so beautiful.”_

_Alistair snorted. “That’s the Theirin blood in me. Lots of people say I look like the uncaring asshole who had sex with my mother one time.”_

_“No, sweetheart …”_

_Dom's voice shook when he spoke, and the sound made Alistair ache so deeply that he interrupted Dom with a kiss passionate enough to make him forget everything else._

_When they finally broke apart, Dom looked dazed for a moment. “You’re certainly not hard on the eyes, but that’s not what —” The lopsided smile that Alistair adored so much finally appeared, and Alistair’s heart overflowed with love for this amazing man. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever met. You’re smart, and funny, and you’ve been through more shit before the Blight than some people see in a lifetime. And somehow you’ve come away from it with a strength I admire and envy, and a heart so big and kind it’s almost too good to be true. And I want — I need you to know that, okay? No matter what happens, I need you to know that I love you and that I thank the Maker every day for leading me to you.”_

_In his entire life, no one had ever said anything so nice to Alistair. Maker, no one had probably ever thought it. And now, of all times, he was utterly speechless. No words could explain how much he loved Dom._

_So he showed him instead._

_Dom sighed into the kiss, which Alistair deepened until a snort from their feet interrupted them._

_“Out,” Dom said, pulling away just enough to speak._

_One mabari huffed and left the tent._

_But only one._

_Dom stopped, and Alistair's eyes fluttered open and followed his gaze to their feet._

_“You, too, B,” Dom said soberly. “I promise I’ll take care of him.”_

_Alistair couldn't_ _help a small groan and buried his face in Dom’s shoulder, the barely-there innuendo more embarrassing in front of Barkspawn than if she were a Chantry mother._

_Dom snorted. “Gutter brain.”_

_Barkspawn whined, nudging at Alistair's_ _feet._

_“Barkspawn!” Alistair hissed, nudging her right back. “You’re killing the mood!”_

_Barkspawn expressed her displeasure at the ultimate injustice of being sexiled by licking the bottom of Alistair's foot before bolting from the tent._

_Alistair yelped, but Dom silenced him with a kiss._

_“Don’t be mad,” Dom murmured, smiling against his lips. “You’re hers, and she loves you just as much as I do.”_

_“Yes, yes, that’s very nice.” Alistair straddled Dom’s hips and lowered them both to the ground. “Now you’re killing the mood. Stop talking about mabari.”_

_“What kind of Fereldan is turned off by mabari?”_

_Alistair laughed. Then he shut Dom up with a kiss, and neither had breath for much else after that._

Alistair wiped the tears from his cheeks. Barkspawn slept soundly next to him, but he was wide awake, staring at the ceiling in his darkened room and worrying about tomorrow.

He’d long wondered if Dom had planned ahead of time to kill the archdemon, or if he’d decided in the heat of the moment. If their roles had been reversed and Dom had insisted on killing the archdemon and Alistair had ceded, he probably would have done the same — make Dom think he’d won the argument and then do it himself, by trickery if necessary.

Dom’s insistent declaration and his apparently sincere words to Barkspawn the night before the battle had always led Alistair to believe that yes, Dom had planned it since they’d learned what needed to be done. And he’d always believed his own survival to be a curse.

But perhaps he’d been wrong. In light of the last couple of weeks, Dom’s declaration now seemed more desperate.

_“No matter what happens …”_

_“I need you to know …”_

Maybe that night, while Alistair had been preparing to die, Dom had been thinking about how to survive without him.

And although it raised a host of other questions Alistair didn’t want to think about, maybe Dom had decided at the last second — perhaps during that final, desperate kiss before everything ended — that he couldn’t survive without him.

Because now Dom’s words sounded different to Alistair’s ears.

_“… a strength I admire and envy …”_

Now, they sounded like acknowledgment.

_“… a heart so big and kind it’s almost too good to be true.”_

They sounded like encouragement.

_“I thank the Maker every day for leading me to you.”_

Like confidence that Alistair had ample strength and a heart large enough to love both Dom and another the Maker might lead to him.

That order seemed significant now. Dom believed he’d been led to Alistair. Like _he_ was the one people needed, and not Dom.

Maybe his survival wasn’t a curse; perhaps Dom had considered it a blessing for someone else.

The ache in Alistair’s chest, which Dom left behind when he sacrificed himself, had eased somewhat over the years, and Alistair had barely noticed. It would never fade completely — he would always love Dom, and a part of his heart had been lost forever the day the Blight ended.

But maybe there was enough of it left for someone else.

Alistair snorted, startling Barkspawn awake.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, still laughing. “Go back to sleep.”

He rolled over and snuggled against her, trying to smother his grin.

Maker’s breath. He was definitely getting ahead of himself. A crush wasn’t love.

But it was a start.

* * *

Alistair tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to slow his breathing.

In the passenger seat next to him, Barkspawn sat alert. She let out a gentle whine.

“I can’t do it,” Alistair said, not daring to meet her eyes. “I just can’t, B. Maybe at the next appointment. But I’m not ready yet.”

She nuzzled into his neck and then licked his cheek.

“Okay.” Alistair nodded, now looking out at the door of the Denerim Veterinary Clinic. “Okay. Just a checkup. An appointment. I can do this.”

But he didn’t move.

“Fuck.” He banged his head against the steering wheel. “Why can’t I do this? What is wrong with me?”

Barkspawn let out a growl. A quiet, gentle one, but still a growl.

Alistair huffed out a breath and snatched his phone from the console. He dialed before he could second-guess himself.

As soon as the line connected, he blurted, “Tell me I’m being an idiot.”

“You’re being an idiot,” Morrigan obliged, for once in her life. “Stop stalling or you’ll be late to Bea’s appointment.”

“Wh — How did you —”

Maker, Alistair swore he could _hear_ her eyes roll. “Today is the day of The Appointment. The time is now … less than five minutes of the hour. And you are clearly desperate, calling me of all people and literally asking to be called an idiot. I cannot, even with my rather impressive mind, imagine any other potential scenario that makes sense.”

Ugh. He hated that he was so obvious, but also … didn’t? Because she knew, and he didn’t have to explain.

“Alistair.”

“Yeah?” Maker, his breaths were coming way too fast, and Barkspawn responded by leaning across the console and gently bumping his head with hers. He leaned into her.

“Do you not think you are being rather selfish right now? This appointment is not nor has it ever been about you. The vet, no matter how handsome you find him, wanted to see Bea in order to ensure she has healed properly. Should you not be worried about that instead?”

“Morrigan, I have generalized anxiety.” Alistair’s mouth, like his mind, was running a mile a minute. “My brain is fully capable of worrying about both of those things, plus how much I’ve been missing work lately, the fact that I forgot to eat this morning, the meta-worry about my backsliding mental health and about fifty other things simultaneously!”

Morrigan didn’t miss a beat. “In that case, let us focus on one at a time. First — Bea. When I saw her the other night over the video chat, she looked quite well, and you confirmed that she seems to be healed. This is merely a checkup appointment.”

“Yes.” Alistair took a deep breath in, then out again. “Right.”

“Second — the veterinarian. As Leliana, Zevran, and I all said, if you are not ready, that is fine. There is no pressure except that which you put on yourself. So why not keep the focus on Bea? If an opportunity presents itself, then you may decide to take it, but go in with the assumption that you will keep things professional.”

Another deep breath, in and out. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

“As for the other myriad worries — work will understand, eat after the appointment, you seem to be coping quite well but it may help to explain your concerns to Wynne, and I’ve always found it useful to write out everything worrying me and get them out of my head so I can begin to attack each item individually.”

Alistair nodded, inhaling on a five-count and exhaling on a five-count. “Okay. Right. Little bites.”

“Exactly.”

They sat in silence, but Alistair could hear Morrigan breathing. She hadn’t explicitly said so — Morrigan never used unnecessary words — but he knew that was on purpose, and he synced his breaths with hers.

After a minute or so, when he’d mostly calmed down, he decided that Morrigan might be able to answer the biggest question bugging him since he lay awake in the middle of the night. “Will you be honest with me?”

“Have I not been honest enough thus far?”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “I have a tough question for you, and I want you to be honest, even if you think it’s something I won’t want to hear.”

“If the answer is mine to give, it shall be yours.”

Ugh, why did she always have to sound so pretentious?

But he shook the thought aside and asked, “If Dom and I had switched places, and he was here instead of me … do you think he’d be happy with someone else?”

Morrigan sighed, but not her standard annoyed sigh he’d heard at least once in every conversation since they’d met. He recognized it, though, because he’d felt the same for the past six years.

Her sigh was one of immense emotional exhaustion.

“I do not know. And that is my honest answer. I would like to think he would, but he’d already lost so many people he loved in quick succession — his parents, his sister-in-law and nephew, and, as far as he knew, his brother. I do not know what he would have done had he lost you, as well.”

“Yeah.” Alistair swallowed painfully. “Me either. Do you — do you think I can?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no elaboration.

She had deemed them unnecessary.

“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay.” Then, after a moment, he said, “So, how are things with you lately?”

“Alistair Theirin,” Morrigan snapped. “You are now at least five minutes late for Bea’s appointment. If you truly wish to hear about my life, call or text me later. But if, as I suspect, you are merely procrastinating, hang up the phone and get your ass in there.”

He opened his mouth to argue before closing it again. Maybe he was stalling a little, but he did feel bad that in all the texting and talking with them this week, he hadn’t asked any of his friends about their lives.

And he felt especially bad about Morrigan, since apparently they’d sorta kinda been friends this whole time and he hadn’t realized it?

“Fine, but I _will_ call you later,” he muttered. “And as punishment for doubting my sincerity, I will explain the events of this appointment to you in excruciating detail.”

“Oh, Maker, help me,” she said, sounding bored. “However will I survive.”

Something about her tone (or lack thereof) sounded odd; while her sarcasm wasn’t unusual, her heart didn’t really seem to be in it.

Huh. Maybe he wasn’t the only one of their crew who was lonely more often than not these days.

But if Morrigan was playing her usual part (even if halfheartedly), then he could play his, for her sake. “Aha! You don’t even believe in the Maker. You must really be desperate.”

“Oh, _indeed_ ,” she said, and there was her characteristic sarcasm again. “Now, while I don’t mind making a lecture hall full of undergrads wait for me to finish a call outside, my adviser might complain if they left because I arrived later than some arbitrary time they decided was too long to wait.”

“Fuck,” Alistair said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize —”

“If it had been an issue, I wouldn’t have answered,” she said, simply. “Now, get in there to confirm Bea’s clean bill of health so you have one fewer thing to worry about.”

“Okay.” Alistair nodded. “And, uh — thanks, Morrigan.”

“Of course. Text us all when you’re finished.”

And before he could chuckle awkwardly, she hung up.

He stared at the phone for a long moment before registering the time as seven past the hour.

Shit.

“Hurry up, B,” he called over his shoulder as he opened his door. “You’re going to make us late!”

Barkspawn let out a huff of protest when he opened the passenger door for her to jump out, but that was fine.

All his closest friends sighed or groaned or rolled their eyes at his humor. It was how they said they loved him.

* * *

Thankfully, the clinic was far less focused on the clock than Morrigan’s slacking Orlesian students. A tech greeted them, weighed Barkspawn, and led them into an exam room to wait.

Barkspawn refused to break contact with Alistair, which he was pretty sure was because of his anxiety and not her own nervousness. Either way, he appreciated it, and he kept a hand on her back as they both sat, him on a chair and her on the floor.

Maybe Cullen — er, Dr. Rutherford had been watching the clock, though, because he entered less than a minute after they did.

The instant he set foot in the room, Barkspawn charged at him.

His eyes — sadly not behind those glasses Alistair loved — widened as he closed the door behind him.

But to his immense credit, he merely grinned and threw out his arms. “Hello, sweetheart!”

At the last second before she slammed into him, Barkspawn hopped up onto her rear legs, her front paws landing on his shoulders, and licked his face.

“Barkspawn!” Alistair scolded. She knew better than to do that to anyone other than him. Outside of battle, a two-hundred plus pound mabari jumping on you was terrifying. (It was terrifying inside of battle, too, but then that was the point.)

But Dr. Rutherford wrapped his arms around her and laughed — deep and resonant, just like Alistair remembered, but also lighter and utterly delighted.

“Oh, what a wonderful welcome!” Dr. Rutherford said. “I will always take kisses from my favorite mabari.”

Barkspawn let out a short, pleased bark and dropped back to all fours.

“Don’t get too excited,” Alistair said, and only partly to remind them both that he was in the room, too. “He probably says that to everyone.”

Dr. Rutherford — and he was Dr. Rutherford now, not Cullen, because he was looking at and speaking directly to Barkspawn without even a glance at Alistair — shook his head soberly.

“I absolutely do not, and not just because I would never lie to you.” He crouched to Barkspawn’s level and scratched under her chin, which she allowed with her tongue hanging out. “You may or may not know this, but most mabari are terrible patients.”

Barkspawn tilted her head and eyed him warily.

“It’s true,” Dr. Rutherford insisted. “Mabari are trained to be aggressive, and when they’re hurt or sick, they aren’t always careful about reining themselves in. I’ve only ever been bitten by patients twice, and both were mabari.”

Barkspawn whined and nudged his hand. Alistair agreed; the idea of Cullen being injured while trying to help made his heart stutter unpleasantly.

“Yes, and that’s why you’re my favorite,” Dr. Rutherford said, and it took Alistair a moment to remember he was talking to Barkspawn and not him.

Dr. Rutherford stood from where he’d been petting and scratching Barkspawn and motioned to the exam table.

“Now, you’re obviously feeling better, but I’ll need you up here to give you a good look-over. I can get a stool if —”

Barkspawn leapt onto the three-foot-tall table and sat with a cheeky tilt of her head.

Alistair smiled, both at her mood the apparent effortlessness — Maker, she really was feeling so much better than last time.

Dr. Rutherford raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve never had any patient do that without assistance, so please forgive my impertinence.”

Barkspawn turned her head away dismissively, and Dr. Rutherford snorted.

“Well, you’re a sassy one today. Is this what you’re like when you aren’t in pain?”

“Usually,” Alistair answered, but to be honest, he was surprised by her attitude. When the two of them were alone, she was definitely a wise-ass, but she only ever showed her most playful, flirty side around the crew from the Blight, and even then only sometimes, and usually as an act to earn treats and pets.

But this — this was genuinely happy playfulness like Alistair hadn’t seen from her since the Blight ended.

His chest tightened, not with grief this time, but with a sort of melancholy fondness. He adored this side of her, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until now.

No matter what happened after, he would always be grateful to Dr. Rutherford for that.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, then, my lady,” said Dr. Rutherford with a small bow, and Barkspawn actually nodded her head like she was the Maker-damned Queen of Ferelden acknowledging a subject. “Might I have a look at that paw of yours?”

Barkspawn tilted her head back and forth, considering, before offering the previously injured paw.

Dr. Rutherford looked at it closely, articulated it in every direction, asked Barkspawn to stand on it, and eventually declared it to be “nicely healed.”

But instead of telling Alistair — or, Maker, even Barkspawn, at this point he wasn’t going to be picky — that she was in tip-top shape, Dr. Rutherford began to do the same to the rest of her body, and in silence, only speaking to give her directions.

Sickening dread settled in the pit of Alistair’s stomach, and his heart raced. Was something still wrong? What if the leg was healed, but the infection had moved to another part of her body?

He sat down, put his face in his hands, and focused on calming his now erratic breathing.

To distract himself, he decided (for a nice change of pace) to think of some happy memories. Specifically, his very first memories of Barkspawn.

_Duncan walked the few remaining puppy-less recruits to the fourth kennel. The mabari in this one looked older than the others._

_“These pups are from several different litters,” said the kennel master, “and range in age from six months to a little over a year. But that doesn’t mean they won’t imprint. Just need a bit more time, or maybe they’re a bit pickier about who they choose. They’re partly trained already, but that shouldn’t affect their ability to imprint …”_

_A whine from the next kennel over drew Alistair's attention. A mabari, older still than this new set, lay sprawled across the floor. It looked ill — sunken, bloodshot eyes; matted fur with bald spots in places; mouth open with its tongue, which was an odd dark color, lolling; slow, labored breathing._

_It raised its head and made eye contact with him, and it didn't look away from him even as Alistair was shooed into the new kennel and walked out five minutes later the only mabari-less Warden._

_Alistair crouched down in front of its kennel, and it raised a paw toward him, almost like a wave._

_“Oh, son, don’t get too close,” said the kennel master. “She was training when some actual darkspawn attacked. The trainers fought them off, but she jumped into the fray, too. Poor thing swallowed some darkspawn blood, so she’s —”_

_“Tainted,” Alistair whispered to her, raising his hand to touch her still outstretched paw. “Me, too.”_

_“I’m afraid if she doesn’t improve in a few days, we’ll have to put her down.”_

Alistair heard Barkspawn huff over on the exam table, but he ignored her. She was in Dr. Rutherford’s good hands for now; Alistair needed to worry about himself and focus on something other than all the things that might be wrong with her.

_“You cannot continue to do this to yourself,” Duncan said, frowning._

_“She chose me, Duncan!” Alistair knew he sounded hysterical, running as he was on only a few hours' sleep in the past day and a half. “And I won’t give up on her if there’s even the slightest chance that this scientist —” He waved his laptop screen in Duncan’s face. “— has found some stupid flower that can help her!”_

Barkspawn whined, and Alistair pressed his face harder into his hands. He couldn’t let himself think about what might be wrong or he’d lose it.

_“Hey, there, sweetheart,” he said, crouching down with a cheek-aching grin when the vet walked her out._

_Maker's breath, she looked so much healthier than he’d ever seen her that he almost wondered if they’d brought him someone else’s mabari. Yes, her fur was still patchy and she was so underweight he could see her ribs, but those things would take time to improve. In every other way, she looked just like any other of the dozens of mabari pups he’d seen in the past week._

_But best of all — and how he knew she was_ his _girl — was the way she bounded toward him. He wrapped her in his arms, hugging her tightly while her entire body seemed to wag along with her tail, and tried not to cry._

_She licked his cheeks, and he laughed with joy. “Are you ready to go home, Barkspawn?”_

A sharp bark jerked Alistair from his memories just in time to hear Dr. Rutherford say, “Yes, you’re done, go check on him.” At that, Barkspawn leapt gracefully from the high exam table and bounded over to him, whining.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” he said, voice thick as he wrapped his arms around her. “M’okay. Promise.”

She didn’t seem convinced, though, and lay her formerly injured paw on his knee while she nuzzled into his neck.

After only a few moments, his heartbeat — already slowing down thanks to his precious, happy memories — settled back to normal, and his breathing steadied.

He dreaded the answer, but as he pressed his forehead into hers, he asked the all-important question. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Healthy as a horse, as Dr. Dennet would say,” said Dr. Rutherford.

Alistair’s eyes fell closed in relief. “Thank the Maker,” he breathed, the words shaky. “Don’t ever worry me like that again, B. Please.”

He basked in the wonderful news, and she sat with him patiently, as she always did.

Then he felt a gentle weight rest on his other knee.

“Alistair?”

The breath he inhaled sounded like a gasp when he heard his name in that deep, melodious voice for the first time.

Though Alistair didn’t look up or remove himself from Barkspawn, Dr. Rutherford crouched before him. He pressed a small, ice-cold bottle of water into Alistair’s free hand.

“Drink,” he ordered.

And Alistair did without a second thought. His hand shook slightly, but he thankfully didn’t spill anything.

“Can I get you anything else?” Dr. Rutherford asked. “Maybe call someone for you?”

Maker’s balls, what an absolute nightmare. Two weeks of stressing and agonizing, and the first time Dr. Rutherford — Cullen — this incredibly attractive man actually spoke to him and not his dog, he was talking him down from a fucking panic attack.

Alistair gulped the water down in an attempt to stave off the whimper that desperately wanted to escape. Then he said, “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

“Perhaps this will help.”

A few printer pages appeared in his lap. “What’s this?” Alistair asked, picking them up with his free hand, though its arm was still wrapped around Barkspawn.

“The first page is the write-up for this appointment,” Dr. Rutherford explained. “I apologize for how long it took, but I did a thorough check of everything from nose to tail, a bit more in-depth than I’d even do for a regular checkup. Everything looks great. She’s in perfect health.”

Alistair released Barkspawn to take a close look, and next to every item on the list — Coat, Skin, Heart and Lungs, Ears, Eyes, Teeth, Joints, Musculature — was the word _NORMAL_.

Dr. Rutherford took the second page from him and laid it on top. “And this is the report of the blood work we did last week. I thought you might want to see it for yourself. We compared it to the healthy blood work we have on file for the purpose of comparisons exactly like this. Ignore all the doctor gobbledygook and skip down to the results.”

Alistair looked at the table he indicated. The first column contained a list of tests in said doctor gobbledygook, but the second column, like the previous page, consisted of a series of _Normal_ s all the way down.

Except for one glaring _ABNORMAL_ towards the bottom.

Alistair pointed to it with his water bottle. “This is because of the infection, right?”

“That’s right,” said Dr. Rutherford, whose hand had returned to Alistair’s knee.

And for the first time since the appointment started, Alistair looked up and met Dr. Rutherford’s gaze.

Those beautiful, amber eyes were kind, and a soft, gentle smile greeted Alistair.

“Alistair,” said Cullen, and oh, there went his heart again, but in a far more pleasant way this time. “If you’d like, we can draw blood and run another test. But I don’t think it’s necessary. With the checkup I just did and the rest of the results, I can say with almost complete certainty that she is healthy. She’s in excellent shape for her age, as evidenced by those impressive jumps.” He motioned over his shoulder toward the exam table. “And as I’m sure you know, mabari live longer than other breeds of dogs. If she keeps up like this, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her hit twenty-five or even thirty.”

Now that adorable lopsided smile lit up his entire face.

“She’s going to be around for a long while yet.”

Alistair’s eyes filled with tears. Barkspawn was fine — better than fine. She was in excellent health.

With a sob he tried and failed to keep inside, he threw his arms — still clutching the water bottle and those papers bearing such wonderful news — around Dr. Rutherford’s shoulders.

For one long, glorious moment, his senses were bombarded. A smooth, smoky scent that reminded him of camping in the middle of Ferelden all those years ago. The softness of golden curls against his face. Smooth, freshly shaved skin against his cheeks. Taut shoulder and back muscles —

And in the next instant, he felt Cullen stiffen, sensed his discomfort, heard his breaths speed up.

Horrified, he immediately released Dr. Rutherford and turned away, clutching Barkspawn instead.

“Maker’s breath, I’m so sorry,” he babbled, embarrassed beyond words and unable to look in Dr. Rutherford’s direction. “I didn’t — I just —”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Cullen said softly. “I understand.”

Alistair shook his head. “No, that was so incredibly inappropriate. I am so sor —”

“Alistair.” His name again, in that voice again, and that hand again, on his knee again. “Truly. It’s all right.”

For only the second time since he arrived, Alistair took a risk and raised his gaze.

And there Cullen was again, wearing a sweet, gorgeous smile that sent Alistair’s heart into overdrive. He squeezed Alistair’s knee and said again, “It’s all right.”

“Will you have dinner with me?” Alistair blurted.

Cullen’s eyes widened and he snatched his hand away as if from a white-hot stove. “What?”

Alistair groaned and buried his face in Barkspawn’s fur. “Andraste’s fucking tits! I’m such a bloody mess. Please, just ignore me and let’s pretend the last minute never happened!”

He heard Cullen move away, and although Barkspawn stayed with him, she shifted her weight and whined. And not at Alistair.

“I — it’s not that —” Cullen began, and Barkspawn whined again.

“Please don’t,” Alistair murmured into his hands. “It’s not your fault, I’ve been going through a bunch of shit lately, and all you’ve been is kind and understanding —”

“But I —”

“— and the last thing you need is someone like _me_ having a Maker-damned panic attack and then hugging you and asking you out, like some sort of —”

“Maker’s breath, you talk a lot,” Cullen muttered, but loud enough for Alistair to hear.

He looked up sharply and saw Cullen sitting against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks filled with a feverish flush.

Alistair’s utter mortification gave him a sense of déjà vu, conjuring a memory he hadn’t thought about since prior to the Blight’s end.

_“Andraste’s flaming sword!” Cousland snapped. “Do you ever shut up?”_

_Alistair flinched. It had only been a matter of time, really. Cousland was tolerant, but no one was tolerant enough to deal with him. “Uh, no — I mean yes — I mean, sorry. I’ll — I’ll shut up now.”_

Dom had apologized not long after, and eventually, with his help, Alistair had grown confident in himself, but all that felt like another lifetime.

Now, though?

Now, he chuckled. “You wouldn’t be the first to point that out.” He shrugged, reaching out for and grasping a chunk of Barkspawn’s fur. “Nervous habit.”

“Ah,” Cullen said. He didn’t look up.

Alistair clamped his mouth shut to keep it from saying anything else.

For her part, Barkspawn merely looked back and forth between the two of them before tilting her head questioningly at Alistair, who winced and shook his head slightly to indicate just how badly he’d fucked things up.

“Mine is rather the opposite,” Cullen said quietly. “My nervous habit, that is. I’m far more comfortable around animals than people.”

Alistair snorted. “Join the club,” he muttered, with a tilt of his head toward Barkspawn.

When Cullen saw Alistair’s smirk, he dropped his gaze with a smile of his own, his fair Fereldan cheeks now the color of a somewhat severe sunburn.

Maybe Alistair hadn’t fucked up _that_ badly.

That said, he didn’t know what to do now. A lifetime ago, he’d just handed Dom the rose he’d saved from Lothering and explained what it made him feel. Sure, back then he’d been nervous, but he also could have just shrugged it off as a silly, sentimental, platonic gesture, if necessary.

That wasn’t exactly an option right now, since he’d made his intentions pretty clear.

Should he wait until Cullen overcame his own nervous habit and said something? Was that better or worse than leaving now before he inevitably screwed things up?

Then he heard, of all people, Morrigan in his head. _“Do you not think you are being rather selfish right now? This appointment is not nor has it ever been about you.”_

And Maker, if she wasn’t right. Again. For, what, the third time this week? (He could never tell her that, of course, lest she become even more unbearable.)

For the past week, everyone had told him it was okay if he wasn’t ready. But the thought that he wasn’t the only one who _needed_ to be hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Maybe at the next appointment.

Heart pounding, he clutched Barkspawn’s clean bill of health — which he’d probably keep on his person for the next week or so, just in case he needed a reminder — and his water bottle, stood up, and took a page from Dr. Rutherford’s book.

“Well, B,” he said as cheerfully as possible, holding the papers out like she was capable of reading them. “Look how healthy you are! I’ll be sticking _this_ report card on the fridge. Say thank you to Dr. Rutherford.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Cullen look up sharply at that.

But Barkspawn let out a truly pathetic whine, and oh, the last time she’d turned those pitiful, wide puppy eyes on him had to have been years ago, but she flashed them now like it had been no time at all.

“I know, but he checked on everything, see?” He pointed to a random spot on the page. “Our appointment’s over now, and I’m sure he has lots of other puppies and kitties to help like he helped you, so we should —”

“I don’t,” Cullen said, and Alistair turned to see him still red and rubbing his neck but meeting his gaze with a slightly raised chin. “That is — I mean —” He sighed, ran a hand down his face, and emerged with cheeks that looked only mildly sunburned. “My next appointment isn’t until one. I was going to spend it doing some paperwork, but …” He cleared his throat. “There’s a little cafe a few doors down. Would you like to get a coffee with me?”

Alistair was pretty sure his jaw dropped. No dinner, but coffee? What was the difference? Was dinner not a thing people did anymore? And why —

Wait — _coffee_?

He scoffed and said, “Absolutely not.” He barely paused, but that was enough time for Cullen’s face to fall, which frankly only increased Alistair’s confidence. “I will, however, gladly have _tea_ , you utter barbarian. Are you even Fereldan?”

Cullen inhaled to protest, but must have realized from Alistair’s tone or raised eyebrow or the word “barbarian” or maybe even his smirk that he was being teased.

That gorgeous smile made another appearance. “Fereldan black tea didn’t have nearly enough caffeine to get me through vet school, and I’m afraid I haven’t kicked the habit yet.”

Alistair laughed, and Maker, it felt so _good_.

Cullen grabbed his clipboard and moved to the door. “I need to let them know I’ll be stepping out, and probably change. Stressed animals shed like —” He motioned to his definitely fur-covered scrubs and shrugged. “Well, like this. I go to that cafe regularly and would like to continue to do so. But …” He held up a finger, half-pointing up and half-pointing at Alistair. “I have several things I wish to discuss with you, so …”

He shook the finger a few times and then turned around and bolted from the room, closing the door and leaving Alistair blinking behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My former vet, upon whom Dr. Cullen Rutherford is heavily based, once said, directly to my excited and bouncy English Pointer, "EJ! Hello, my favorite pointer!"
> 
> "He probably says that to everyone," I said (to EJ but not, like Alistair did).
> 
> My vet looked at me with wide eyes and shook his head. "No, I really don't. Most English Pointers are kind of jerks."
> 
> Cullen might not drink Fereldan tea, but he would never say that most mabari are "kind of jerks," so I adapted the line to fit. #basedonatruestory


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor TW for an open and honest discussion about grief and an overview of Alistair's mental health issues. Other than that and a few minor miscommunications, this chapter is pure fluff! (Finally!)

The door clicked closed behind Cullen.

Alistair gaped at it, then at Barkspawn, and then he collapsed into the chair.

“Ohfuck, ohfuck ohfuck ohfuck …” He whipped out his phone.

Barkspawn hopped up to place two paws on his lap and wagged her tail so hard her entire body moved with it.

“I know, B, but … _fuck_.”

He typed quickly into the group chat.

> _Alistair: MHM you guys_
> 
> _Leliana: Maker help you?? What happened??_
> 
> _Zevran: !!!_
> 
> _Sten: Is the mabari well?_

Several more messages, mostly emojis and question marks, came through before he finished his rapid (and error-riddled) summary.

> _Alistair: B is fine but I had anx attk and he was rly swet and nice and I hugged him and asked him out bc I’m a ducking mess. He didn’t say yes to dinner hut he asked me to coffe rt now!!_

His phone was cruel enough to show him dots to indicate that everyone was typing something. His leg jiggled so fast it was almost vibrating, and he pressed his forehead into Barkspawn’s. After an Age-long wait (of probably only fifteen seconds), he typed out and sent his real worry.

> _Alistair: He said he has “several things to discuss with me” what does that mean????_
> 
> _Leliana: Oh, Alistair, I’m so so so so proud of you!!!!!!_
> 
> _Oghren: whats a ducking mess_
> 
> _Shale: COFFEE?_
> 
> _Shale: i thought you said he was fereldan wtf_
> 
> _Zevran: well done, mi amigo!_
> 
> _Sten: Does he wish to meet for professional reasons? Perhaps about the mabari?_
> 
> _Alistair: Idk thats why im texting … help you guysssss_
> 
> _Zevran: ah, finally a fereldan who is not an utter barbarian!_
> 
> _Shale: WRONG ZEV YOU ARE WRONG_
> 
> _Leliana: If you’re having coffee with him now why are you texting??_
> 
> _Alistair: Hes changing from his work scrubs with fur on them n telling people hes leaving for a bit but he’ll probs be back soon_

He could hear people’s voices through the door, including a deeper one that was growing louder.

> _Alistair: Fuuuuuuck you guys hes gona be bak soon_
> 
> _Leliana: Just relax and be yourself!! He already sounds like a keeper!!_
> 
> _Zevran: do not forget to breathe, my friend, but also try not to drool._
> 
> _Oghren: if ya freak out let the dog do the talkin_
> 
> _Morrigan: If he helped you through an anxiety attack, Leliana may be correct._
> 
> _Shale: check to make sure he’s not orlesian first_
> 
> _Morrigan: But no matter what happens, you deserve to be happy._
> 
> _Shale: if he makes you cry then PULVERIZE TIME_
> 
> _Shale: (lels sent me a pic tho he’s pretty cute)_

The door opened and Alistair shot to his feet, shoving his phone into his pocket despite its continual buzzing.

“… be back before that, Cassandra!” Cullen was saying as he shut the door quickly behind him.

Alistair could have sworn he heard laughter and giggles behind it.

Cullen, now wearing a pair of khakis and a tucked-in red button-up — with the top two buttons undone, Maker’s breath — leaned back against the door for a moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

Alistair did the same.

Barkspawn, the little demon that she so often was, barked, startling them both.

Cullen smiled, shy again, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you ready?”

“If you need to —”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Cullen said quickly. “They just …” He sighed, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Shall we?”

He waved a hand to the door Alistair had entered — opposite the one he had come through, which led to the back — and Alistair, heart pounding so hard it could have taken flight, left the room with Barkspawn at his heels.

As the three of them walked through the thankfully empty waiting room, the women at the reception desk quickly stopped whispering to each other.

The one Alistair recognized as the receptionist smiled sweetly and waved. “Goodbye, Barkspawn.” In her Antivan accent, the punny dog name sounded as dignified and noble as if it belonged to a member of the old-monied gentry. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better. And you two have fun!”

Barkspawn bobbed on her front paws and gave a little bark.

Cullen didn’t react, so Alistair merely waved out of politeness.

He didn’t recognize the other woman behind the desk — she was dark-haired and both tall and muscular enough that she could probably go toe-to-toe with Shale. Though she didn’t say anything, she snickered behind her hand.

Cullen pointedly did not react.

A few of the techs also poked their heads out from the back. One of them tossed back her short blond hair in a cackle. “Yeah, Cully-Wully, have a nice da —”

She was cut off by an extra loud cough and an elbow to the ribs from the large, burly, bearded man who had checked Barkspawn in for the appointment this morning. But the beard, though impressive, wasn’t quite big enough to hide his smirk.

“Ignore them,” Cullen said, eyes forward as he opened and held the door for Alistair and Barkspawn.

“Excited. Happy. Hopeful,” said a dreamy voice. Alistair jumped and looked over his shoulder, startled at the eerily close proximity of a very young man with a very wide-brimmed hat. “Her paw hurt you more than her. She worries for you, but she thinks maybe he can help you not feel so lo —”

“Thank you, Cole, that’s enough.” Cullen practically slammed the clinic door in the young man’s face, but his words had already punched Alistair in the chest, freezing him in place while he tried to regain control.

But, as always, Barkspawn had his back, and she tugged him away from the odd boy still watching them and led the way down the sidewalk after Cullen.

* * *

As they walked, Alistair turned the boy’s words over and over in his mind, feeling more off-center than he’d been all day. Cole seemed to have been speaking thoughts that belonged Barkspawn, but that made no sense. Neither of them had ever met him before, and Alistair certainly wouldn’t have revealed anything so personal to some kid in a vet clinic.

And yet somehow, he’d succinctly summarized what Alistair was ninety-nine percent positive she was thinking. How?

Barkspawn, for her part, seemed completely unbothered by having her thoughts spoken aloud. She pranced eagerly between Alistair and Cullen and bumped their legs, alternating back and forth between them. Whenever she hit Cullen, he grinned down at her, glanced up at Alistair for a moment during which his smile dialed down to that sweet, shy one, and looked away until Barkspawn bumped him again.

“Sorry about that,” Cullen said eventually, nodding his head back toward the clinic.

Alistair shrugged. “No problem.”

“Cole has difficulty with boundaries, but he is excellent with animals. Almost like he can read their minds.”

“Haha, yeah.” Alistair laughed awkwardly. “So weird.”

Cullen, thank the Maker, didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he stopped. “This is it.”

Alistair looked up at the sign, blinked, and then looked back at Cullen. “This is the cafe?”

Cullen shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Er, yes?”

“You regularly get barbarian _coffee_ at a place called The Black Citea?”

Cullen chuckled, sticking his hands in his pockets. His cheeks pinked, and he shrugged with that cute smile again. “I suppose so. Would you prefer we go to a place with coffee in its name?”

“Of course not,” Alistair said. “I have to patronize a place with a blasphemous tea pun for a name.”

Cullen smiled for real now, a bit more confident. “I thought you might like that.”

Alistair nodded to the small outdoor seating area. “Mind if we sit out here so B can join us?”

Barkspawn made the question moot by sitting down next to a small table with two seats.

“It seems the decision has been made for us.” Cullen grinned at Barkspawn, and the fondness on his face endeared him to Alistair far more than anything else he might have done.

Alistair’s stomach fluttered pleasantly.

“If you tell me how you like your tea,” Cullen said, those golden eyes now on Alistair, “I can get our drinks and bring them out here.”

“No, no!” Alistair protested, though he wasn’t quite sure why. “She’ll be fine out here —”

“I insist,” said Cullen, and his tone brooked no argument.

Unwilling to make things weird by further objecting, Alistair shrugged. “I like milk but no sugar.”

“All right. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Alistair stood watching his back, confused, as Cullen entered the shop.

He let out a long breath and sat in the chair Barkspawn had chosen for him. “So what do you think?”

She wagged her tail excitedly and nudged into his hand.

“Playing matchmaker, are you?” he said, scratching between her ears. “I appreciate that, but …” His throat began to sting. “Please don’t be disappointed in me if I can’t …”

Barkspawn whined, resting her head on his knee.

“I know. I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t get your hopes up too high.”

He let out another long, shaky breath and pulled out his phone. A dozen or so unread texts waited for him.

> _Oghren: wait who is this guy_
> 
> _Oghren: go al but like who is he_
> 
> _Sten: The veterinarian who healed the mabari’s leg._
> 
> _Shale: srsly. keep up oghren._
> 
> _Zevran: he left a vmail that dear Alistair played for us. his voice is delicious._
> 
> _Shale: he looks pretty yummy, too_
> 
> _Leliana: And he’s been so kind to Alistair!!_
> 
> _Leliana: I’m so happy to hear he was understanding about the anxiety attack!!_
> 
> _Leliana: Though I’m sorry you were so anxious …_
> 
> _Sten: I have not seen a photo._
> 
> _Leliana: [sent a photo]_
> 
> _Oghren: hawt lol_
> 
> _Sten: He does meet many standards of human attractiveness._

Alistair rolled his eyes at their excitement that seemed just a bit too eager and typed out a text.

> _Alistair: If he’s buying my tea, is it a date?_
> 
> _Leliana: Yes!!!_
> 
> _Morrigan: Quite likely._
> 
> _Zevran: ah, yes_
> 
> _Oghren: wait why yes_
> 
> _Shale: YES BUT MAKE SURE HE’S NOT ORLESIAN_
> 
> _Sten: Not necessarily. It is not uncommon for the one who asked for a meeting to purchase refreshments in a business scenario._
> 
> _Leliana: Sten!!_
> 
> _Morrigan: But as unfortunate as it may be, Sten is correct. This is not to dash your hopes, Alistair, but to keep your expectations realistic._
> 
> _Leliana: Morrigan, you heard that voicemail!! He was so kindly asking after Alistair’s well-being!! That is not something a man does for another man who is merely a business associate._
> 
> _Sten: I often ask after Alistair’s well-being, and I do not wish to date him._
> 
> _Leliana: Yes but you are good friends and have been for many years!!_
> 
> _Shale: sten and morr have a point but i’m still rooting for the hot (possibly orlesian) vet to have the hots for our boy_

Alistair would have laughed if he wasn’t so damned nervous. Their banter was so much like it had been in person during the Blight. They’d all teased him and Dom to no end once they learned about them. It felt only right that they tease — and argue — him about his current situation.

And, to be fair, it was a ridiculous situation.

He looked up from his phone to see Cullen inside the shop, holding two cups and heading for the door.

> _Alistair: hes coming back thanks for the theories n advice i'll try not to get my hopes up_
> 
> _Alistair: love u ugys_
> 
> _Alistair: *guys_

Then he dropped his phone to the table and jumped to his feet, beating Cullen to the door by half a second and holding it open for him.

Cullen blinked in surprise. “Ah, thank you.”

“We can’t have you dropping your precious cargo, now can we?” Though Alistair’s heart was racing, he grinned. “By which I mean the tea, of course. Your blasphemous coffee can splash all over the sidewalk, for all I care.”

“No, the coffee is _barbaric_ ,” Cullen replied smoothly, handing Alistair his ceramic cup as they both sat. “It’s the tea that’s blasphemous.”

He glanced pointedly at the sign above the door that read _The Black Citea_.

Maker, Alistair appreciated someone who could meet him joke for joke. “Touché.”

Cullen’s eyes widened. “Now who’s the Orlesian barbarian?”

Alistair snorted into his tea. It might have been embarrassing if Cullen hadn’t looked so pleased with himself at making him laugh. As it was, he grinned over the edge of his cup and basked in that lopsided smile before finally taking a sip of his tea.

He blinked. “What _is_ this? It’s fantastic.”

Cullen’s pleased smile grew into something not-so-lopsided and with a certain amount of smugness. “Perhaps you should have come inside. I forgot the names of the various teas are just as clever as the shop’s. I figured a dog-loving, Maker-blaspheming Fereldan like yourself might favor black teas. This one is called the Arl Grey Warden tea.”

Alistair nearly giggled in his utter glee. Arl Grey was his favorite type of tea — a strong, black breakfast tea — but with that name?

He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the shop’s brilliant pun of a name.

“Maker,” he said, breathing out a pleasant sigh. “Where has this place been all my life?”

Cullen laughed, and it was that deep, rich one that Alistair had heard on the phone. The one that had made him shiver.

To distract himself from his body’s inappropriate reactions, he turned to Barkspawn — who, he only now noticed, had simply laid down next to his chair with her head resting on her paws and done nothing to distract him or Cullen from each other.

She was an impressive wingwoman.

Nevertheless, he said to her, “We need to come here more often.”

She looked up at him but otherwise didn’t move and gave a soft _woof_.

“That reminds me,” said Cullen, pulling something from his pocket. “Excuse my rudeness, sweetheart. I got you something, too.”

And he unwrapped a large cookie in the shape of a mabari.

At that, Barkspawn sat up eagerly, tail whapping against the ground. But, as she had with Leliana almost a week ago, she waited patiently with her back straight. Unlike she had with Leliana, she looked at him with big puppy dog eyes.

“You know,” Alistair said, crossing his arms. “I expected better from you, what with being her doctor and all.”

To his credit, Cullen waited until Alistair nodded his assent before handing the treat to Barkspawn. “You’ve been through an ordeal,” he said to her. “You can be a little spoiled.”

Alistair threw his head back — half-seriously, half-over-dramatically. “That’s been everyone’s excuse!” he said as Barkspawn gently took the cookie from Cullen and then lay on her stomach to devour it. “She’s already had cookies and bags of treats and Antivan take-out this week.”

“Mmm, sounds delicious,” Cullen said, smiling. “I did notice you’d gained a few pounds, but that’s not unusual for normally active animals who have to rest for a few weeks.”

They both watched Barkspawn eat for a few moments, and Alistair’s heart sped up. Was a pause in conversation bad? Was he boring? Was he doing something wrong that made Cullen pull back and start speaking to Barkspawn again rather than him and just generally go back into vet mode?

Cullen seemed to shake himself — oh, no, he’d been thinking deeply about something — and took a long, slow sip of his coffee.

Alistair did the same with his tea, wracking his panicking brain for something, _anything_ to talk about. Fortunately, the warmth and comforting taste of his Arl Grey Warden tea — hehe — served to calm him a bit.

He opened his mouth to say whatever happened to come out (sometimes it was better that way), when Cullen cleared his throat.

“I, er, asked you to join me so we could talk.” Cullen wrapped his hands around the mug in a way not unlike Alistair did when he was nervous and trying to still them. “I haven’t been completely honest with you about … well, about how I know so much about mabari. And it’s, er, something I think you should know. Before anything else.”

Alistair’s heart skipped into overdrive. This was bad. It had to be bad. Nothing good ever started with _We need to talk_. Or included the phrase, _I haven’t been completely honest with you_. Or _Something I think you should know_. Fuck, everything Cullen just said was a major red flag for any relationship, and Alistair had to grip his cup hard to stop his hands from shaking.

“Oh?” he said, his voice pitched just high enough to be weird.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He should just make his excuses and leave before —

Barkspawn, Maker bless her, placed a paw on his thigh. One hand still clutching his mug in an iron grip, he reached down to scratch her between the ears with the other.

“It’s not — it’s not _bad_ ,” Cullen said quickly, and Alistair felt his face heat in mortification that he couldn’t keep himself together for a fucking conversation. “I just want to be open about everything before anything else … happens.”

If that was meant to make him feel better, Cullen was doing a piss-poor job. Barkspawn nuzzled into Alistair’s side now, and Alistair let his hand trail down her neck to grip a chunk of her fur between the shoulder blades.

“Good girl,” Cullen murmured.

Alistair almost shouted at him to just fucking say it and get it over with.

“I know a lot about mabari because I grew up with them, in a way,” said Cullen. “I’ve loved animals as long as I can remember, and I was eight when the barn cat had kittens and a vet came to check on her. When I learned she was an animal doctor, I pestered her with questions and realized what I wanted to do when I grew up. Which my parents approved of far more than what I’d been obsessed with before — being a templar.”

Alistair’s distaste must have shown on his face — it was basically a reflex when anyone mentioned templars — and Cullen laughed.

“I know. Can you imagine? Especially with everything that’s happened with the Order in the past year?” Cullen snorted, and Alistair glanced up to see him shaking his head. “I shudder to think where I’d be right now.”

Alistair continued to stroke Barkspawn’s fur, but he braved another drink of his delicious tea. The warmth from both spread through his veins.

“Around the time I turned twelve, Nana Rutherford passed away and Grandpa went to live in a retirement home. We visited him every weekend for the first few months, just to make sure he wasn’t lonely.”

Now Alistair started to frown. What did any of this have to do with him? Just how much of Cullen Rutherford’s life story was he going to hear today? Not that he minded the content; he just wasn’t a fan of the sickening dread in his stomach.

“As it turned out, we needn’t have worried.” Cullen wore a rather fond smile as he spoke to his own mug. “Grandpa had always been quick to make friends, and his new home was no different. Each week we were introduced to half a dozen more of his closest friends. A lot of them had fought in the war with Orlais. And around a dozen of them had mabari.”

At that, Alistair looked up sharply.

Cullen smirked. “Exactly. And there I was, a middle-schooler obsessed with animals. It was a match made by Andraste herself. So I spent most of my summers visiting Grandpa and his friends and listening to their stories. It soon became apparent that the mabari were more than just pets or even war dogs. By the time I was in high school, I volunteered at the home every weekend, walking and playing with the mabari and pestering Grandpa’s friends about them. I continued to visit into college and even after Grandpa passed. I loved those mabari, and the more I learned, the more fascinated I became.”

Alistair smiled down at Barkspawn, thinking of all the times she’d saved him, both on and off the battlefield. In fact, at this point, she’d probably done more for him off the battlefield than on. She was always there when he needed her, and he loved her more than he’d ever be able to put into words or action.

“They are amazing.” He bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

She kissed him back, and he made an exaggerated disgusted sound, grinned, and murmured, “You really are my best friend, B.”

Then he remembered where he was and who he was with and sat up straight, face heating.

“That sounded stupid. But —”

Cullen smiled at him kindly. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. That’s what I learned from Grandpa’s friends. Mabari are fearsome warriors, but also pets and service dogs and therapy dogs and fiercely loyal friends. I watched the men whose mabari died grieve as if a spouse had.” He looked down at his coffee again. “Grandpa’s friends passed away one by one, but I visited them and their mabari companions through college and vet school. I even got my adviser to let me do a rotation there. And when I graduated and started practicing, I visited often and did check-ups every few months like I did with all my other patients.”

Maker, how was it possible that this man kept growing more attractive? The more he talked, the more Alistair realized that the reason he understood his bond with Barkspawn was not that he’d seen bonds like theirs before.

It was because Cullen had committed his life to understanding that bond, and, with his grandfather’s friends, had very nearly lived it.

“So why are you in Denerim?” Alistair said before hearing how bad that sounded. “I mean, mabari aren’t as common out here, and if —”

“I know what you mean.” Cullen’s smile saddened. “The last of Grandpa’s friends passed away almost two years ago. And unlike the rest of that crew, he passed before his mabari did.”

Alistair’s stomach dropped to his toes like a rock thrown by an ogre — heavy, fast, and destroying everything in its path.

“There was no one else, so I took her in.” Cullen frowned hard at his mug for what felt like Ages; Alistair gripped Barkspawn’s fur so tightly his hand began to ache. “She had always been stubborn and grumpy, but she just kind of … gave up. She barely lasted two months”

Barkspawn whined, burying her head in Alistair’s lap. Alistair knew how she felt. His heart ached just thinking about leaving her behind. Almost as much as it ached at the idea of losing her.

He thought about Dom’s boy, loyal to the end, following Dom on that final suicide mission without hesitation.

“Yeah,” Alistair croaked, his vision blurry. “That’s how it usually goes.”

“So I’ve come to learn.” Cullen bowed his head over his coffee and stayed that way.

Alistair wiped his face and looked at Barkspawn, who was nuzzled against him but looking at Cullen. When Alistair’s strokes brought her attention back to him, he smiled through his tears and nodded toward Cullen.

“Go on,” he whispered.

And his beautiful girl padded over and nudged Cullen’s leg, whining until he smiled and scratched her between the ears.

“Thank you, sweetheart, but …”

He looked up at Alistair, who just watched the two of them, chest swelling with a fondness that was somehow both foreign and achingly familiar.

And then Cullen patted Barkspawn’s head and pulled his hand away, bowing once again to frown at his coffee.

Barkspawn tilted her head, glanced at Alistair, did something that Alistair couldn’t describe with words but nevertheless knew was her version of a shrug, and walked back to him.

“I needed a change after that,” Cullen said, and his voice sounded off, like it had when he’d told Alistair about losing his patients the previous week. “And I wanted to study mabari and their relationships with their imprints.”

The warmth in Alistair’s chest cooled rapidly.

“So I interviewed at clinics across Ferelden, but especially in the larger cities. While mabari in general are more common in the country, veterans paired with mabari usually cluster where there are more resources.”

Alistair gripped a chunk of Barkspawn’s fur again, suddenly grateful she had returned to his side.

“Dr. Dennet was the only one who didn’t look at me like I was crazy. He said he wasn’t sure how much help he could be, but he would put me in touch with who he could before he left the clinic.”

No, no, no. Alistair understood now, and his chest constricted until he had difficulty breathing.

This wasn’t a date at all.

“He was the one who put Barkspawn on my schedule,” Cullen said soberly.

Alistair’s stomach plummeted; he had been told Dr. Dennet had been unavailable.

“Not that he told me anything until a couple minutes before the appointment.” At another time Alistair might have found his annoyance funny; now it just hurt. “He said that Barkspawn was a sweetheart and you were a good man, and that you might be willing to talk to me about your relationship.”

Alistair blinked back tears. Fuck. Sten and Morrigan (of _fucking_ course) had been right. He should never have gotten his hopes up. Maker’s breath, Cullen probably thought he was an idiot.

“So you asked me here” — he nodded to his cooling tea — “to talk about me and Barkspawn and mabari in general.”

He was proud that his voice didn’t break but wished it sounded natural and not numb, like the rest of him.

“At first, yes,” Cullen said, oddly urgent. “That was my plan. But I made a mistake.” Cullen sighed. Alistair winced at it and the phrasing. “I developed a crush.”

Cullen’s gaze dropped to Barkspawn, lingering for an instant before he focused once again on his coffee, his cheeks pink.

Alistair followed his gaze, petting Barkspawn as she looked up at him, head tilted. Of course. That figured. Why wouldn’t a vet — or anyone, for that matter — get a crush on Barkspawn? If the roles were reversed, Alistair would. She was amazing.

And anyway, maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. If nothing else, he might come away from all this with a friend who he could hang out and talk about mabari with.

Alistair forced a grin. “That makes sense,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady. “She’s pretty hard not to love. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t. Not that I’m biased or anything.”

Cullen frowned. “What? I’m not —” Then he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. When he looked up again, he wore just a hint of a smirk. “I’m not talking about Barkspawn.”

“You’re not?” Alistair blinked, and then he scowled. “Wait, why not? She’s amazing!”

“I don’t develop crushes on my patients,” Cullen said, and now he wore that lopsided smile Alistair adored. “I fall head-over-heels in love with every one of them. Though I admit I do have my favorites.” He grinned at Barkspawn, who wagged her tail happily in response.

Then he returned his attention to Alistair, and that grin had dimmed into an adorable shy smile.

Alistair was so confused. “Are you talking about me?”

Cullen blinked, glanced at Barkspawn, blinked again, and spoke to Alistair like he was an idiot. “Yes.”

Barkspawn turned her head to regard Alistair, as if waiting for his response in this match that had shifted from tennis to polo to soccer so fast Alistair would be feeling the whiplash for days.

Alistair threw his hands in the air. “Then why didn’t you just say that? I asked you to dinner and you got all weird, but then you asked me to get coffee or tea or whatever with you, so I thought I understood, but _then_ you got all serious about needing to tell me something and then told me that long, sweet, fascinating story that ultimately didn’t matter and then —”

“What do you mean?” Cullen voice was firm and clear, cutting through Alistair’s rambling. “I felt it was important to be honest with you about how we met, what I wanted from our relationship, and why I was so interested and knowledgeable about mabari. Why doesn’t that matter?”

He frowned, and Alistair recognized a glint of pain in his eyes.

“No, it does!” Alistair said, and he gripped Barkspawn and his mug to keep from reaching out to Cullen. “I didn’t mean it didn’t matter at all, just that it didn’t matter for …” He couldn’t make himself say us, but he did wave his hand foolishly between the two of them. “Because you want something different now, or — I guess, maybe I should —” He sighed, beyond frustrated at his inability to make words with his mouth. Then he paused, took a breath, and asked, “What _do_ you want?”

“You,” Cullen said simply. “I want you.”

For one of the few times in his life, Alistair was struck absolutely speechless.

His stomach performed some incredibly complicated gymnastics, and if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought his heart ceased beating for a long moment or three.

No one, not even Dom, had ever made something so complex sound so Maker-damned simple. But here Cullen spoke as if wanting Alistair was the most obvious thing in the world when it was _very much not_.

Alistair huffed out a sort of disbelieving breath, and only then did he realize that his jaw had dropped. He moved his mouth wordlessly for a bit before he settled on the only response he could actually muster.

“Oh.”

A corner of Cullen’s mouth twitched, and he leaned forward, pushing his mug aside and resting his forearms on the table. “Did you honestly think that I regularly call about test results and ask for the dog?”

“Well —” Alistair started defensively before realizing there wasn’t really anything to defend. “Yeah. That’s what the vet tech said at the last appointment.”

“Which tech? Sera?” Cullen’s eyes widened. “Was it Dagna? Because she’s been told several times that she is a _machine_ tech and should not be testing anything on the animals …”

“Uh …” Alistair felt a little bad that he couldn’t remember her name. “I don’t know. Short, reddish brown hair pulled back in a bun, really nice, worried you might leave for a nicer place.”

“Lace.” Cullen nodded in understanding. “She’s been with the clinic since the beginning and loves it as much as Dr. Dennet does. What exactly did she say?”

Alistair glanced at Barkspawn, who was still riveted, hanging on every word they said. “She brought B back to the room and I asked if you were always, you know, with the Dr. Doolittle schtick …” He waved a hand in Cullen’s direction and couldn’t continue.

He was distracted by the way Cullen smiled at him — first, following the way his hand moved, and then accompanied by a chuckle at his “joke.”

That smile was new, different from the really cute lopsided one. It felt … intimate in a way Alistair couldn’t describe. It warmed him on the inside and, though he was self-conscious on the outside, he really, really liked it.

His cheeks burned and he looked down with a smile of his own.

“And?” When Alistair looked at him again, Cullen still wore that intimate smile and nodded eagerly for him to continue.

“Oh, she, uh, went on about how it’s not a schtick even if it’s weird, everyone loves you, blah blah, the animals really listen and you get used to it.”

Cullen pinked and looked adorably embarrassed. “That’s not wrong, but it’s not the whole story, either. ” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “When I speak to my patients, it’s to help them warm up to me …” He reached out and fiddled with his mug. “And to help me ease into talking to their owners. Like I said, I’m more comfortable around animals than people. By the end of the appointment,” he said, shrugging, and with what looked like a conscious effort, he ceased his fiddling and set his mug aside once again. “I do actually work up the nerve to speak to the humans. But I never eased into talking to you.”

Alistair deflated a little. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to —”

“Alistair.” Cullen spoke his name oh, so gently and leaned forward on his arms again. “It’s not your fault I’m incapable of speech around someone I admire.”

Alistair’s mouth snapped shut, probably because his mind was trying to focus on continuing to operate with Cullen even closer to him than before. His expression must have been one of disbelief, or perhaps embarrassment, because Cullen showed him that shy, lopsided smile again.

“You were cradling her when I came in. You were worried sick for , and then you also turned out to be smart and funny and incredibly attractive.” Cullen’s gaze — and his voice — dropped for that last bit, and his cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink that Alistair’s probably mirrored, if their sudden burn was any indication

“But on the phone —”

Cullen grimaced. “I expected to get your voicemail, and when you answered, I panicked.” Then his expression smoothed, the look in his eyes so gentle that Alistair almost cried. “And even though I could tell you were on edge because I hadn’t called earlier and we barely knew each other, you were so … _open_ about your experiences during the Blight.”

Alistair’s chest tightened, and not in a pleasant way.

“You showed me a kindness and understanding I hadn’t expected.” Cullen smiled softly. “Though I suppose I should have, considering how you are around Barksp —”

“I lost someone,” Alistair blurted.

Inappropriate, yes, and definitely emotionally jarring if the widening of Cullen’s eyes was any indication, but Cullen had said that up-front honesty was important. Now was as good a time as any, and Alistair needed to get it out before he lost his nerve.

He felt Barkspawn’s head on his leg and grounded himself by petting her.

Cullen’s nod was slow. Wary. “So you said.”

“No, I mean —” Alistair closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d get it all out without breaking down in some way, and he definitely couldn’t bear to see Cullen’s reaction until he was finished. “More than — he was … someone I cared about. A lot.”

To his humiliation, his voice wavered, and Barkspawn whined, bringing a paw up to rest on him, too. Alistair opened his eyes to look at her and her alone.

“I thought as much,” Cullen said, and Maker, his voice was too kind and understanding for Alistair to handle right now. “Toward the end of the call, when —”

“It fucked me up,” Alistair said, and _shit_ , he was going to cry — was crying. Barkspawn was blurry now, but he had to say this. Cullen needed to know now, before anything else happened. “Ever since the Blight I — I’ve checked off PTSD symptoms like they’re a to-do list. I’m anxious and depressed. I’ve been carrying around a fuck-ton of survival’s guilt I can’t seem to shake even six years later.”

He laughed, but only to keep from sobbing, and it didn’t even work. His tears fell anyway, enough that Barkspawn popped up onto her back paws and licked his face before bumping him with her nose.

_I’m here._

An involuntary spasm made him suck in a breath, and fuck, fuck, fuck, he was losing it in public, on the patio of a tea shop in front of this amazingly hot and caring guy he seriously wanted to date. He gripped Barkspawn with one hand and his mug tightly in the other in a desperate attempt to steady himself.

“I’m just a fucking mess, okay? So if you don’t want to deal with all that —” Another spasming half-sob, but he forced himself to continue even though his heart felt like it was being ripped out of his chest for the second time in his life. “It’s important to be honest, like you said,” he finished with a shrug and his largest, fakest grin.

When he finally looked up, he noticed Cullen’s clenched jaw first. His frown. Cullen swallowed, and by then Alistair’s gaze had traveled to Cullen’s eyes.

His golden, watery eyes overflowed with a sadness so perfectly mirroring Alistair’s own that it somehow eased the ache in his heart.

How? How could he do that? How could this man he barely knew understand him so well that a simple look seemed to numb — maybe even heal — his soul-deep wounds?

And then — _and then_ — Cullen reached out and placed his hand over Alistair’s free one, which gripped his mug tightly.

Alistair’s heart skipped like a stone across water, and his hand relaxed under Cullen’s.

“I am so sorry, Alistair.” The sincerity in Cullen’s voice was a balm that further soothed his pain. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to lose someone so close to you, in addition to dealing with the trauma of the Blight.”

But losing Dom had been the instigator of his PTSD; Alistair liked to think that he’d have been able to handle everything else if he and Dom could have helped each other through it.

Cullen wasn’t wrong, though, and he was kind to say so. And when he squeezed Alistair’s hand in emphasis …

What was the opposite of a shiver? Because that was what traveled up his spine and into his chest at Cullen’s touch — something like the feeling of hot water running down his body and leeching the pain and tension from his muscles, but against gravity, and with his heart.

“None of that changes anything for me,” Cullen murmured, and now his thumb caressed the back of Alistair’s hand. “Every bit of it combined makes you who you are.” The corners of his mouth quirked up. “And I quite like who you are.”

Alistair tried to smile back, but missed by several marks. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” He sniffed. “You haven’t seen me when it’s bad.”

“I think have an idea,” Cullen said softly, and only now did Alistair notice that he’d at some point unobtrusively shifted his chair to the three o’clock position at the table, rather than the twelve. “Maybe something like the end of our phone call, plus Grandpa’s friends on their worst days.”

A couple of tears rolled down Alistair’s cheeks. He released Barkspawn and wiped them away.

Cullen clearly understood far more than Alistair had given him credit for.

And when Cullen reached out his free hand, Alistair took it without thinking, his finger still damp with his tears.

He placed his hand into Cullen’s outstretched one as if he’d done so a thousand times before. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, to take Cullen’s hand..

Rationally, it made no sense, this feeling of familiarity. They’d only interacted for a few hours at most over the past two weeks.

Then again, Cullen had won over Barkspawn in even less time.

Just as Dom had.

Barkspawn’s job had always been to protect Alistair. So perhaps it wasn’t really a surprise that she was the key to his heart.

“I know what I want.” Cullen spoke softly and caressed both of Alistair’s hands with his thumbs now, and Alistair broke into goosebumps. “But if you don’t, or you aren’t ready, I’ll understand.”

“No!” Alistair clutched both Cullen’s hands on reflex. Just the idea of letting them go made his chest ache — and yikes, mental note to talk to Wynne about that next time. Detachment was a symptom of PTSD and grief, but he knew that over-attachment and separation anxiety often grew out of the sort of complex grief he’d felt since Dom died.

That was something to worry about later, though.

“I want this.”

Although this was the first time Alistair said it aloud, he no longer had doubts. In fact, the words brought with them a surprising relief, and he laughed only a little hysterically, nodding eagerly.

“I want this. I really do.” Right now, he _needed_ Cullen to know that.

And Cullen’s gorgeous smile in response was worth every stressful moment over past two weeks and then some.

“But.” Alistair swallowed. “I’ll need to go slow at first. And then some things might feel too fast.” His heart started to race, and so did his mouth. “And other times I might need space, or be too clingy, or randomly be sad because of things that aren’t your fault, like at the end of our call, or —”

Cullen squeezed Alistair’s hands and smiled kindly. “We’ll go at whatever pace you need. It’s not as if — that is — I don’t exactly have extensive experience in these matters. I was so focused on college, and then vet school, and then my practice, and then moving here. As my sister keeps so kindly reminding me, I haven’t actually dated anyone seriously in, um …” Now, one of his hand’s released Alistair’s to rub the back of his own neck. “Around a decade.”

Alistair’s stomach did an excited little flip, and this time _he_ reached out, interrupting Cullen’s seriously adorable and incredibly telling gesture. A jolt shot through him and up his spine at the renewed contact, and he twined their fingers together with a grin.

Cullen’s ears turned pink.

Alistair squeezed their hands this time. “Then we can be out of practice together.”

“You had a good reason,” Cullen muttered.

“So did you,” Alistair insisted, ducking his head to meet Cullen’s gaze. He wouldn’t let Cullen be embarrassed for something that was actually a huge relief for him. “Clearly, you hadn’t met the right mabari yet.”

Barkspawn knew her cue when she heard it and barked happily, though Alistair was surprised to see her stand from her standard Quiet and Patient position; he hadn’t even noticed that she had stepped back to allow Cullen in.

Cullen laughed, and Barkspawn hopped onto her back feet to place her paws on the table. Alistair was so pleased he couldn’t muster up the will to care that she shouldn’t be doing that.

Without releasing Alistair’s hands, Cullen turned to her with a smile, and Barkspawn gently bumped her forehead against his.

 _That_ was something she’d never done before with anyone, other than him. Not even Dom.

Maker, maybe the past few years had been lonely for her, too.

“What do you say, sweetie?” Cullen was serious, like when he was working, except he was wearing that sweet, intimate smile again. “Do you think you can share him with me?”

Alistair’s throat burned at his sheer purity and sincerity.

Barkspawn took the question just as seriously as Cullen, dropping to all fours and then sitting, tilting her head and looking him squarely in the eye. Cullen didn’t blink, and if he was nervous, he hid it well.

Unlike Alistair, who was sweating bullets. Barkspawn had always been defensive about people spending time with him, up to and including the occasional jealous spat with Dom.

But after an Age and a half, she seemed to drop her head in an approving nod before jumping to her feet, tail wagging excitedly, and giving a short, sharp bark.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” When Cullen turned, grinning, back to Alistair — or so Alistair assumed, his vision blurred as it was — his smile vanished. “Oh, no, was that too much?” He leaned back and even loosened his grip on Alistair’s hands. “I’m sorry, I should have —”

“No.” Once again, Alistair clutched Cullen’s hands desperately to keep him close. “It’s just that …” Blinking back tears, he gave those strong, steady hands an extra squeeze until he had gathered himself enough to finish. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her like this with anyone. About six years.”

The surprise on Cullen’s face was so precious that Alistair couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“Well,” said Cullen, voice thick with emotion as he addressed Barkspawn. “That certainly is an honor.”

“He’ll always be a part of me.” Alistair wasn’t entirely sure why, but it was suddenly important to him that Cullen understand that. “No matter what happens with us, I won’t —”

“I would never expect you to,” Cullen said. “Nor would I want that.” And now he reached up with one hand and wiped away Alistair’s tears.

Alistair let his eyes fall shut at the gentle caress. No one had touched him so intimately since the Blight. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it? If anything, I am flattered that, in your strength to try again, you’ve found me worthy of your affections.”

Alistair snorted. “She’s the strong one,” he said, nodding to Barkspawn. “Putting up with me being a complete mess.”

Cullen rolled his eyes and asked Barkspawn, “Is he always like this?”

That warmed Alistair’s heart more than anything else that came before.

All the important people (or mabari) in his life sighed or groaned or rolled their eyes at him. It was how they said they loved him.

And now Cullen was one of them.

Barkspawn gave Cullen a snuffling sigh of her own in agreement. The traitor.

“Well, then, we’ll just have to keep reminding him how worthy he is, won’t we?”

As Barkspawn agreed with a bark, Alistair felt a small pang at that word again. _Worthy_. Eventually he’d have to tell Cullen that the man he’d been in love with was not only another Warden, but _the_ other Warden. The man known across the nation as the Hero of Ferelden.

That was for later, though. Alistair hoped that when the time came, Cullen would still feel worthy of his affections.

For now, Cullen had released one of Alistair’s hands and was scratching Barkspawn between the ears — and that was another concern. Barkspawn wasn’t used to sharing him, though right now she seemed satisfied with receiving a part of Cullen’s attentions.

But how would she respond when things started getting more serious? Would she interrupt their, er, _intimate_ moments to beg for attention?

Ugh, he was getting ahead of himself. As Morrigan, of all people — and wow, this was a seriously weird day if Morrigan’s advice was sticking with him the most — had texted earlier, _“You deserve to be happy.”_

And he did. And he wouldn’t self-sabotage by imagining everything that could go wrong.

“Such a sweetheart,” Cullen was cooing at Barkspawn. “Yes, you are.”

Morrigan was right. (Ugh, he felt dirty just thinking that.) He deserved to be happy, and he was allowed to do things for himself without overthinking until he ultimately decided to do nothing.

He leaned in a little — not too close because there lay danger, but just enough to feel conspiratorial — and said, “I’m going to give this another go. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Cullen’s face brightened, but before he could respond, Barkspawn let out a sharp, annoyed bark.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Fine. Dinner with _us_?”

Cullen let loose that intimate, lopsided smile Alistair was sure he would never get tired of seeing. “I’d like that very much.”

* * *

When Cullen’s lunch break was nearly over, Alistair walked with him back to the office. Still holding hands, neither of them had wanted to let go upon standing from their table, so they didn’t. They walked back like that, hand-in-hand, and Barkspawn didn’t insert herself this time. She seemed to understand how important this moment was for Alistair, including that it was almost over and he wanted to relish every bit of contact he could before they went their separate ways.

“You know, for a lunch break, that consisted of an unfortunate lack of lunch.” Alistair bumped Cullen’s shoulder with his own.

Cullen nudged him back. “It was worth it. I’ll eat something quick between appointments.”

Alistair frowned. “Are you sure? How long —”

Cullen stopped and faced him, taking his other hand. “I’m sure.” Cullen smiled sweetly, thumbs once again caressing the backs of Alistair’s hands. “I’ll be fine, I promise. And this way, I can save more room for dinner.”

Alistair gulped. He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a double entendre or a simple statement about food, but since Cullen wasn’t blushing, he decided it was probably as straightforward as it sounded. For the best, really. His heart skipped nervously just thinking about anything more.

Cullen nodded to the side. “I assume this is you?”

Alistair turned to find his own car. Barkspawn must have led them here rather than the office — perhaps to allow them as much time alone as possible — and Alistair had followed, unthinking.

His heart leapt into overdrive, and he nodded a bit too vigorously. “Uh-huh. Yep.”

“I need to get back,” Cullen said softly, though he made no move to do so.

Neither did Alistair. What was the proper etiquette in this situation? They were holding hands in the middle of the parking lot of a strip mall, having just finished a short, pseudo-date, and they were going to go on a longer, real one for dinner tonight. What sort of goodbye was the right one? A handshake was too formal when they were currently squeezing each other’s hands, but those hand squeezes didn’t feel like enough. A hug, maybe? He wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go if Cullen wrapped his arms around him — or worse, he wasn’t sure he could keep from doing anything else.

That, of course, was the moment Barkspawn decided to interfere. With a short yip, she jostled the back of his legs with just enough force to knock him forward, off balance.

Cullen, who had already shown himself to be strong and sturdy, absorbed the impact almost fully, barely rocking back and only moving to wrap his arms around Alistair, catching him before he could rebound (and, with his luck, fall flat on his ass).

They froze like that for an eternal instant. Alistair’s heart raced, trying to decide what he wanted right now, in this moment. Cullen’s eyes roamed up and down his face before landing on his lips, but to Alistair’s absolute dismay, he didn’t lean in.

Instead, Cullen’s eyebrows twitched upward — a subtle, silent (and unexpectedly appreciated) request for permission.

Alistair responded with an equally minute nod before leaning forward and —

“Dr. Rutherford!”

They both yanked back and spun in opposite directions, Alistair toward his car and Cullen toward —

“Hello, Scout!”

Andraste’s flaming sword! Was it really too much to ask for some nosy old man to _not_ interrupt what was clearly a private moment between his vet and another person in the middle of a public parking lot in front of said vet’s office?

Maker, now tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were due to embarrassment or disappointment or frustration or some combination of all three, but he dearly wished he could melt into the ground and disappear forever.

Barkspawn sidled up to him and nudged his hand. He obliged her, hoping to convey, _I’m fine_ and _Thanks for trying_ and _Sorry I failed_ with a few scratches.

“… happy to see you,” Cullen was still saying. “If your dad could just check in at the front desk, I’ll be in to see you in just a few minutes.”

“Of course. Say thank you, Scout.”

If Scout did, it wasn’t audible, and Alistair waited until both human and animal — Scout could have been a dog or a cat or a dragonling for all Alistair knew — footsteps had faded before he risked turning around.

“I should let you —”

And then Cullen’s mouth was pressed against his, and his back was pressed against the car.

Maker’s breath, Alistair had nearly forgotten how much he loved kissing.

And Cullen — well, Cullen was an excellent kisser.

He kissed with a desperation that Alistair felt keenly after two weeks of stress, a panicked appointment, that roller coaster of a sort-of date, and Scout’s interruption, not to mention a six-year hiatus. But in spite — or perhaps because — of that, Cullen was at the same time almost overwhelmingly gentle with him. One hand cradled his head, protecting it from the unforgiving car window, while the other rested at the small of his back in a grasp so mildly possessive that all Alistair felt was a warm sense of safety.

Alistair wanted to embrace Cullen in the same way, to show him how grateful he was for this gift — a second chance at happiness, at _love_ , and at _being_ loved. Because if someone like Cullen wanted him, then maybe he wasn’t irreparably broken by everything he’d been through. He wanted so badly to take Cullen in his arms and hold him close that his chest ached with the pressure of it.

But Cullen had caught him unprepared, trapping his hands between their chests before he even realized what was happening. So he did the only thing he could — his fingers flexed against Cullen’s chest, clutching desperately at the bits of shirt within his reach, and Cullen let out a moan so soft that Alistair almost cried.

Kissing Cullen was better than Alistair could ever have imagined — and he had, frequently, over the past week — and it was all he could do to keep from melting into a puddle at the feet of this man who was ready to do battle with Alistair’s demons if it meant he could stand at his side.

Eventually Cullen pulled away — maybe for air, though Alistair considered it a secondary concern — and Alistair felt so delightfully content that he couldn’t open his eyes for several moments.

When he did, that intimate, lopsided smile was waiting for him. “That was … really nice.”

“I’ll say.” Alistair blinked a few times, but that didn’t help the fogginess in his brain. “You are really good at that.”

Cullen, Maker bless him, kissed him again. “So are you.”

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

“Ah.” Cullen’s cheeks pinked adorably. “Longer than I should admit.”

“So, about two weeks?” Alistair grinned, and Andraste’s flaming sword, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this utterly, effortlessly happy. “That makes both of us.”

Loud snuffling drew their attention downward, where Barkspawn was butting Cullen’s legs with her head.

“I think that’s my cue,” Cullen said. “I need to get back.”

“How about dinner at my place?” Alistair smoothed the wrinkles on Cullen’s shirt where he’d grasped it. “We can order in, and maybe … pick up where we left off? I’d hate for this engrossing conversation to be over so soon.”

“That sounds perfect.” Cullen’s smile was almost too bright for Alistair’s mortal eyes. “I have appointments until five. I’ll text you when I’m finished?”

Alistair nodded, his body light enough to float away. “Okay.”

“I can’t wait.” Cullen pecked him on the nose — an action so adorable Alistair actually _giggled_ , Maker — and then neither could resist one last kiss before Cullen finally stepped away.

“Good luck with Scout the dragonling or whatever.”

“The one who —?” Cullen gave him a pleasantly confused smile. “Scout is a fat little nug who’s older than the Chantry and just as stubborn. Every time I see him, I am amazed he’s made it another six months.”

“Sure, nug, whatever.” Alistair waved, still leaning on his car for support. “Have fun with that.”

Cullen walked backward toward the sidewalk. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

Barkspawn reminded them both of her presence with a short, sharp bark.

“I’ll see you, too, B,” Cullen said, meeting Alistair’s gaze with a smile one final time before turning around and hurrying into the clinic.

Alistair didn’t move for a while after he was out of sight.

He’d called Barkspawn _B_. That was something only Alistair ever called her.

And Dom.

For the first time, the idea excited him. Dom would have liked Cullen. He’d grown up with mabari and probably would have enjoyed talking about them with an interested professional for hours on end. Alistair wanted to think he would approve.

Or maybe he just really, really wanted to kiss Cullen again.

Barkspawn nudged his hand, and Alistair remembered he was still standing in the middle of the parking lot outside Denerim Veterinary Clinic.

He should go home and think about all this.

And clean. His place was nice enough for Lels and Zev, but he was having a real someone over.

He needed to go home and think about all this while furiously cleaning.

“In,” he said, opening the driver’s side door.

Barkspawn hopped in and climbed over the console to her seat on the passenger side.

Alistair got in after her, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He looked at her and laughed. “Well, that went a bit better than I expected. How about you?”

She snorted, tilting her head at him as if to say, _“You’re welcome.”_

“You’re right.” He leaned over and pressed his forehead extra hard into hers. “Thank you for pushing me.”

She nudged him and flicked her tongue out for a tiny kiss on his nose.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the sudden prickling of tears. “And I’m so glad you’re all better now.”

A small whimper was all the warning he had before her now-healed paw smacked him in the face with a surprising and uncharacteristic lack of grace.

“All right, all right!”

He shoved her head away, laughing, and returned to his seat.

“Is it wrong that I’m kind of glad your leg went all weird?” He babbled at her like he always did as he started the car and prepared to back out. “I’m not glad you were in pain, obviously, but come on. Who could have guessed how this would turn out? All from some mysterious infection that had no source we could find?”

Barkspawn let out a sort of snorting snuffle that sounded eerily like a sigh of laughter.

Alistair shifted back into park with a jerk and looked at her sharply.

She tilted her head at him, blinking innocently.

“You don’t know the source, do you, B? This was a weird fluke, right?”

But even as Alistair said the words, he thought back to the questions Cullen had asked at that first appointment. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. But she wasn’t just a dog, either. She was a mabari and a war hero.

“B,” he started cautiously. “Did you — Nope. You know what? I don’t even want to know.”

He put the car into reverse and backed out.

“But, you know, if you _did_ —” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Barkspawn huffed before lying down.

But all during the ride home, Alistair couldn’t shake the feeling that she was laughing at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through this fluffy AU that grew into a full, in-depth fic about grief and trauma because apparently I can't just write a short fluff piece. Whoops!

**Author's Note:**

> While Dr. Cullen Rutherford's "Dr. Doolittle shtick" comes directly from the prompt, his enthusiasm and humor are loosely based on my own former vet. He was always so excited to see my dog and cat — he called my cat Abby "Abbylicious" and told my English pointer E.J. that she was his "favorite pointer" (as fictionalized for mabari and Cullen in chapter four). When I disagreed, his eyes widened and he shook his head slightly and said, "No, actually, most pointers are real jerks." He was a joy to talk with about the science of veterinary medicine (husband and I are engineers and love geeking out about stuff). He recently left the practice, and I am devastated. So this fic is a bit of a love letter for him, too.


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